


The Ranger and the Matriarch

by valkryor



Series: The Nentir Guardians [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Dad Gets It, Death, F/M, Family of Choice, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mom is Scary, Mourning, Oral Sex, Penetration, Pining, Prince of Undeath 4e Epic Module, Safe Sane and Consensual, Secret Relationship, Vaginal Sex, fancy parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valkryor/pseuds/valkryor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin Goodfellow spontaneously kissed Nikaielestra of Riversong once the Nentir Guardians had finally gotten out from under Thunderspire Mountain and back into sunshine and fresh air.  It was an impulsive act that left her completely stunned and the rest of the party a little gobsmacked.  </p><p>After twenty years, fights, sisterly interference, dragons, and death, they finally realize that maybe there's something there, something that they could have had years or decades earlier if they had not been such fools.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Bloodstorm

The walls of the Red Hold are shiny like obsidian, although are a deep black-red. The bones of long-dead creatures can been seen here and there in the walls, where they are close to the surface. Many of the bones are unidentifiable, but there is the occasional obvious femur, talon, or jawbone.  Both monsters and people seem to have been used to create the place, and there is no rhyme or reason to the structure or contents of the walls. Thinking about what it's actually made of and how it was constructed are lines of thought probably best left unexamined. 

The place is also hot -- the walls aren't burning to the touch, but the Red Hold is suspended in a moat of boiling blood, and the temperature within reflects that fact. There are no windows and no breezes, although there is also no steam or humidity.  It is just hot, and the party finds itself dripping with sweat even while sitting still and resting. 

The ordeal in the Bloodstorm is over, and the party catches its collective breath in a bare corridor, blanketed under a heavy gloom. It is difficult to see anything, including each other, even when standing next to each other.  Some discussion of light is suggested, but ultimately rejected. The creatures who live here are accustomed to the dark; any light would bring them running. It is safer, for now, to huddle in the gloom and rest, and hope they aren't discovered. 

Niki keeps her voice soft, barely above a whisper. "If you had told me," she says, "back in Fallcrest when I first met you and suggested you hire me to go with you to Winterhaven, that we would wind up deep in the Abyss, breaking into the citadel of an evil god, on the trail of a stolen primordial and racing to prevent the destruction of the world as we know it, I probably would have gone back to the Feywild and discarded all notions of being an adventurer. I was quite a vain little thing back then, and too used to comfort. I would not risk what I am now risking. I would have gone back to my comfortable and safe library and my comfortable and safe books. I would have run away."  She is quiet for a few heartbeats, but then says, "But I am a different person altogether than I was back then. I can scarcely recognize myself some days. I am a Wizard of the Spiral Tower. I am the Matriarch of Riversong. I am a Star of the Everlight. I am a Nentir Guardian. I am a wife. I am a mother. I can feel the Feywild, even from here. My people are frightened. The black dust still falls. The dead ravens still laugh, those that haven't been destroyed. No-one is dying. Something has seized the attention of the universe, so much so that it cannot look away. And we, the tiny band of misfits who once struggled to overcome an ill-tempered hobgoblin, are running straight into the middle of it all." 

She stands up, the only clue being the sound of it: what used to be the soft swish of robes has become the creak of leather armour and the clink of the two longswords on her back. She is certainly not the same creature she was when this all started. "I'm not even entirely sure what I'm saying, or why I'm saying it. I think I'm frightened, moreso than I've ever felt before in any of the places or situations we've been. And I'm frightened enough that I don't want to risk losing any of you without saying thank you. Thank you for helping me become what I am. Each of you has had a profound effect on me, and helped shape the woman I am now. Even if it all ends here, in the dark, in failure, I am proud of what we've done, of who we've each become, and I could not name a single other person that I would rather be here with, to face what lies ahead, come what may, than the four of you. So... thank you. All of you. For being who you are. For helping me be who I am. And for being my family, when I had none of my own." 

***** 

Puck rests his head on Arthur's shoulder.  He only knows it's Arthur's because he's wearing neither plate nor leather.  Hot and sweaty, he feels like a demonic chew toy that's a little singed around the edges. They only just started and yet... 

And yet... 

He can hear the dissenting voice in the back of his head, wanting to go home, to his comforts and his wife and and and.  He doesn't, though, listen very closely to it, if he bothers to pay attention to it at all.  Nothing that they have ever done has been easy or enjoyable or fun, but he's already feeling burned out (and just plain burned). 

Puck tries to find the frame of mind he needs, see the absurdity in all of this.  He feels cut off from his home, but, as Niki speaks, he knows that he's with his family, and that, like his older brothers, he would do anything to protect them, including lay down his life. 

It's a small thing, a tiny spark in the darkness, but it's there and it's his.  He nuzzles into Arthur's neck with a nibble and a kiss before settling back on his shoulder.  It's surprisingly intimate for where they are, but love and affection are worth celebrating, even here. 

Now, if only Robin could get that through his thick skull and stop being so damned aloof all the damned time and be WITH them instead of just with them...  Puck squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the welling tears to fall.  After, he tilts his head a little, to watch the slightly darker lump sitting maybe an arm's length away from the group doing SOMETHING that he can't quite make out. 

***** 

Robin, after accepting Arthur's healing, sits about an arm's reach away from the others, as is his wont.  He runs his fingers along the string of his shortbow and frowns; it's too close to snapping for his liking. Glad of the extra space around him, he changes the fraying string by feel without worry about poking or bumping or accidentally smacking one of the others. 

The gloom in this hallway (if one can call it that), makes it nearly impossible to see, even with his acute vision, but the others are a darker mass, even in this poor light.  Leaning against the wall, he turns his head towards them, suddenly aware of how far they've all come: Arthur is confident, Bruce has mellowed, Puck found his place, and Niki...  He frowns again, shoving inappropriate, lustful thoughts back down as soon as they bubble up, so he settles with this: Niki grew up. 

As for himself, although always a Guardian, he has never fully embraced it, putting him on the fringes, making him, at times, an outsider looking in.  And, over the years, it's gotten worse.  He's been companionable, but never really a comrade, and ALL BECAUSE HE'S AN ASS. 

He jerks his head back when it hits him, smacking his skull into the wall.  It's not a loud noise, more of a dull thud, but it hurts just the same.  Robin rubs the back of his head, lost in thought.  Puck may have accepted that this is who his brother is (because this is who he's ALWAYS been) and left it alone, the others always had their hands out, waiting patiently for him to grasp those hands in friendship, in family. 

He carefully crafted his family outside of the group, so that he could keep these four at arm's length, so...  So, what?  It wouldn't hurt as much when they were lost and gone? Or, inversely, they wouldn't need to mourn quite so deeply should he fall?  Of all the foolish and backwards reasons to be aloof and apart.  They deserve better than that and, dammit, so does he. 

He wipes the tears that spillover with his thumb and forefinger.  It makes his prosthetic sting in the socket, which causes more tears to leak out as he squeezes his eyes shut.  He only half-hears what Niki is saying, but doesn't miss the unmistakeable sound of her getting to her feet. 

When she is done, Robin stands and crosses the short distance between them, wrapping his arms around her in a squeezy (and somewhat more intimate that usual) hug.  He does this without thought, only need. There are tears, but they are short-lived.  "I've been a fool," he whispers, hoarsely.  He puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses her on the forehead. 

Niki had no idea what to expect from her little speech -- she really wasn't expecting anything. She just needed to get that off her chest because this place frightens her more than any other they'd been in. In all their adventures, she had felt determination, and anger on occasion, and possibly a time or two she'd been deeply concerned (and maybe a LITTLE scared), but this is the first time she has ever felt so profoundly _frightened_ \-- terrified to her bones, really -- of where they are and what they must do. 

Robin can feel her trembling like a leaf as he holds her, but as he does, her trembling gradually lessens until it ceases altogether and she breathes calmly once more. "Ever since Zirithian ripped my throat out, I have kept a certain amount of distance from all of you, wandering alone along the path that I set for myself.  Instead of coming together, I've pushed you all away.  It's not the way you treat family and I am truly sorry for anything I might have said or done that made you believe otherwise." 

She almost says, "there's nothing to forgive," but that would be untrue. There is. For someone who so pitied Tereminth and his solitary ways, Robin sure avidly followed his example. Until now, that is. And she is so grateful for that. She has always longed to be close to him; he is the older sibling she always wanted, the protector and champion she should have had in Paresaea but never did. 

It is too dim to see her smile, but he can hear it in her voice. "You know you've been doing something wrong when it is **I** who tells you that you're being too reserved," she says softly, still mindful of the need to be quiet. "But you are forgiven, you daft thing." She places a slender hand on one side of his face and a feather-light kiss on the other. "You're a part of us, always have been, in spite of your efforts to the contrary." 

As much as Robin can exasperate her more than any other person in the world, she knows he only ever does so out of concern for her, in his own way. Even when he pushed at her boundaries, challenged her assumptions, or let loose one of his razor-sharp, perfectly-aimed comments right at her weak spots, she knows it isn't because he is malicious or uncaring. Quite the opposite, in fact. And she wouldn't have it any other way. 

She finds being so close to him in the dark to be suddenly rather intimate -- she can't seem him clearly, but she can smell him: mostly leather and sweat and that distinct Robin-scent all his own. The memory of emerging from Thunderspire Mountain after so long in the dark suddenly swims sharply into focus in her mind. The kiss. Her very first kiss, really, and she'd been too shocked and overwhelmed by her own ridiculous hang-ups to enjoy it. Robin perhaps isn't the only fool here. 

Part of her -- the part that is still the reserved eladrin noblewoman -- urges her to step away from him. They stand too close. But another part, the stronger part now, the part of her who has been married to two enthusiastic Pelorians for fifteen years, the part that is among friends who are closer to her than family, THAT part instead takes Robin's hand and draws him over to where she's been, close to the others. She settles on the ground between Arthur and Bruce, and pulls Robin down with her, Puck on Arthur's other side and within reach. All together. She takes a deep breath and sighs it out, content. 

Or as content as one can be in the depths of Hell.


	2. On Sheviathan

Sometime just before the ship reaches the Forge, Niki does seek Robin out one last time. 

Niki presses her lips together in thought for a moment. "You said that you did not expect to survive this," she says carefully. "And perhaps a part of me believes you, or at least allows for that possibility. The thing is, I don't want to say goodbye to you with hate in my heart. I don't want our last days together to be marred by this. You mean too much to me. After you're gone, I'll have all the time in the world to hate you and what you did. But right now, time is too precious to waste on something so base, and so useless. So let's agree to put this on hold for now. We'll deal with it later, after we deal with Orcus. If you die, I can then be free to hate you, knowing that our last days together weren't marred by it. And if you don't die, I can then set your shoes on fire in retaliation, and you can go sit on a stump for a hundred years and hate yourself as much as you like." 

She huffs in frustration and throws her hands in the air. "And that's another thing. I don't even hate you. I do hate what you did. I hate the act. I hate that it was necessary. I hate that it hurt like hell. I hate that you thought to do it. I hate that it WORKED. I hate a lot of things about what happened. Possibly everything." She stops and looks at him. "But I don't hate you. I could never hate you." 

"Why?"  Robin sounds tired and small.  "You have every right to hate me and you don't."  He rubs his face with his hands.  "I'm so confused." Tears well and spill over onto his cheeks.  "I..."  He takes a deep, slow breath to steady himself.  "You have been nothing but kind.  I did something with intent, something so reprehensible, so evil, and instead of anger and hatred I get comfort."  The tears start up again and he wipes them away angrily. 

Niki struggles with what she wishes to say; she finds this difficult beyond imagining. "Because I hate myself, too," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. As she speaks, she can't stop her own tears from flowing. "For what we did in the slave pens. It violated every value, every moral, every ounce of goodness in me. I feel dirty, and unworthy, and reprehensible. I feel tainted. Corrupted. EVIL. But I did what had to be done, we both did. And given the same situation, we would do the same thing. And we regret. And we mourn. 

"This is no different, Robin. You killed men, women and children who had done no wrong, and deserved so much better from life, and from us. We both did. And you killed me, which, like them, you would never have even dreamed of doing if the circumstances had not demanded it. The one and only difference between these two acts, Robin, is that I CHOOSE to put my life at risk every time I put this armour on. I accept that risk every day. We killed innocents in the slave pens, but all you did beyond that was kill a soldier who had already willingly put her own life on the line." 

She meets his gaze and holds it. Her eyes are filled with both pain and hope. "I forgive you because I have to believe that I'm worthy of forgiveness, too. Maybe I'm being impossibly selfish. But there is blood on both our hands, and if it stains yours, how can I even hope for my own? I need to forgive you, Robin. I need to learn how, so I can forgive myself." 

Robin turns his hands palm up.  "These hands have always known blood." He drops his hands back to his side.  "Do you remember the troglodyte nest?  I can't remember, now, if it was Puck's idea or mine, but we agreed that it needed to be destroyed, completely utterly destroyed. With Bruce's help, we did it because it was necessary.  Every one, gone, their only crime being their race."  He rubs his hands over his face, suddenly very tired and wrung out.  "I still think about the evil that I did.  That it was needed." 

"I remember," she says quietly. "I remember hiding in the next cavern, my face buried in Arthur's shoulder, hating that it had to be done, and hating that I was being selfish enough to let you three take that burden on. I'm ashamed of myself for that." 

"Don't be.  It was never something expected of you.  Puck and I have somewhat," he grimaces, "questionable moral compasses, while Bruce's never wavers.  I'm still surprised, truth be told, that Bruce gave us a hand." 

She smiles. "I'm not. Bruce seems like a simple man on the outside, all sunshine and joy, but at his core, he is a sword. A soldier. And a soldier's life isn't all sunshine and joy." 

He brushes back a stray lock of hair from Niki's forehead, carefully avoiding skin-to-skin contact.  "They deserved better.  I know that. With very few exceptions, most who meet us deserve better than what we give them.  It's a strange, unspoken agreement that heroes are expected to make the difficult choices but no one wants to know.  There are no songs about the troglodyte nest.  There will be no songs about the slave pens.  It's a terrible burden and part of me wishes that you didn't need to know how heavy it really is." 

She couldn't help but smile at that, her heart swelling for him. No matter what, he was always thinking of her, always protecting her, always wanting to shield her from the worst the world had to offer. Even now. "I think I understand you a little more now," she says. "I think one of the reasons why I'm not as angry at you as you think I should be is because deep inside, I feel like I deserved what you did. I did a reprehensibly evil thing, and I feel like I deserved to be killed for it. It's no more than what I did earlier that day, eight hundred and seventy-two times over."  Yes. She counted them. She did not want to forget a single soul, a single act. She carries them all with her. 

"In service of saving us," she added, knowing that he would reject the notion but needing to say it anyway. "Who knows what would have happened had we all fallen at Harthoon's hands? You did what you did to save us from that. Horrible, yes, but it worked. You were right to do it." 

"No one deserves that, to be shot with malicious intent."  He puts his hands on her shoulders.  "Not you, not the slaves in the pens.  What I did to you was not a deserved death, not to me.  It was a horrible and shitty thing that I did to someone that I care about." He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "I suck at forgiving myself.  I always have." 

"Yes, you do," she says, not without a touch of humour. "But you need to." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I need you to." 

"It takes time.  More than we have right now.  If I tell you that I've forgiven myself and I can't or won't be able to..."  He scratches his head. "The lie is worse, because then you think everything's okay and my guts are in constant knots and I have to isolate myself even more to keep Arthur from prying, not that he does, but you know what he's like."  He rests is hand on his sword hilt to keep himself from tugging on the braid that suddenly feels too tight.  "It's too much too soon.  I'm sorry." 

"That's all right," she says, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "The last thing I want is for you to lie to me, or to retreat from us again. You said, when we were in the Red Hold, that you'd been an idiot for holding us all at bay for so long. I'm holding you to that. Don't lie to me, and don't retreat from me, even if you do so for my benefit. It won't benefit me at all, in the long run." 

"You told me once that by isolating myself, standing outside of the group, that I could not be the big brother that you had never had.  If his head isn't in a bucket, you should ask Puck; I'm a terrible big brother."  He gently touches her throat where he knew one of his arrows had lodged.  She lifts her chin ever so slightly when he reaches for her throat, and closes her eyes when he touches her. Her pulse flutters under his fingers. "Case in point."  He attempts a smile, but it's thin.  "I never stopped being one, but now I have no way to earn that place back and I don't know what to do." 

"You still don't get it, do you?" She opens her eyes and smiles through the tears, warmth shining through. "You're family. You always have been. You always will be. You don't have to earn anything back, because you never lost it in the first place." She places her hand against his cheek. "This is what unconditional love is." 

Unconditional love.  He gave it, without question or qualm to so many, but to have it given to him...  There was a teeny-tiny part of him that never quite believed that he was worthy of that love, never deserving of it, that he had fucked it up at some point, and if he hadn't done it yet, it was certainly coming.  This part of him, often easily slapped down and ignored, was now shouting the loudest, making the most sense, feeding into his insecurities and confirming his darkest thoughts. 

"I have no way to show you how truly sorry I am," he takes her hand from his cheek and cradles it gently in his own, "nor how deeply ashamed I am that I even considered it a viable option in the first place."  He lets go of her hand, suddenly aware of how misconstrued any future actions might be.  He gives her a brittle smile.  "I know, sometimes, that words, no matter how heartfelt, how honest, can ring hollow when you're hurting, even if they're the words you need to hear." 

"Then maybe," she says cautiously, taking a tiny step towards him, "Maybe I ought not use words at all." She leans in and kisses him, so gentle, so tentative. Her lips are but a whisper on his. Chaste but achingly sweet, she holds it for a heartbeat, two, three. A wordless sentiment that she tries to convey to him in a way he can understand and accept: I love you, Robin Goodfellow. No matter what you've done. No matter what you do. This is what unconditional love is. 

Robin blanks.  His brain shuts down and he's pretty certain his heart skips a beat or three.  Before he can over-think what's happening or worry about the outcome, he surrenders to instinct and experience.  His arms wrap around her, pulling her closer, pressing his lips tightly to hers, his persistent tongue insisting that her lips part. 

She'd been so tentative, so careful at first. She hadn't touched him at all, save for the feather-light touch of her lips on his, to give him the opportunity to retreat if he wished. And when he doesn't, when he puts his arms around her and returns her kiss, a potent wave of relief washes over her. He isn't retreating from her again. For once, he's accepting her love and comfort. Her arms slip around his neck and she melts into him, as much as the leather armour they both wear allows. 

The wave of relief gives way to one of warmth as she parts her lips for him and lets his tongue slip between them. Her kiss started out as tentative and cautious, but with his response it gains some confidence, some heat, some hunger. 

One hand slides up to tangle in her hair and the other lowers to her ass, pulling her hips tightly to his.  There's something desperate in how his mouth and his lips and his tongue move against hers, like he's hungry for something, anything, to redeem him, even if only for a moment. 

Leather confines and chafes his arousal.  Robin intimately knows every catch, every buckle of the armour Niki's wearing, knows which ones are the easiest to open and which ones would cause it to fall away.  He runs a thumb over a nearby catch, idly running variables when he comes back to himself. 

He breaks the kiss by pulling his head away enough so that he can rest his forehead against hers.  His breathing is ragged and loud in his ears.  He does not move his hands.  "I'm sorry.  This has more than just a slight potential of going very wrong very fast." 

Her heart pounds in her ears and her own breath is quick. She has to blink a few times to see straight again after the intensity of the kiss. She's grateful for his strong arms around her; she's not sure her knees wouldn't buckle if he let go. "Aside from the ship being attacked by demons again, I don't see how," she said, her voice low and husky. "On the contrary, I think this has more than just a slight potential of going very RIGHT very fast." 

Niki puts her hand on his: the one that was fingering the catch on her armour. She takes his hand away from it, shaking her head and smiling at him in a way she's never smiled at him before. The glint in her eyes is one that Arthur and Bruce have seen many times, but it's the first time Robin's ever seen it: MISCHIEF. Pure, delighted mischief. She leans forward, brushing her lips against his ear, and breathes, "You forget who you're dealing with." 

She nibbles his earlobe, runs her tongue lightly down his jawline to the corner of his mouth, and kisses him once more, deeply, her fingers twining with his in a firm grip. The kind of grip she needs to feystep with someone. She pulls back, mischief still dancing in her eyes, and arches an eyebrow. Shall I? is the unspoken question. In spite of the intensity of the moment, she would still like his permission before she strips him naked and has her way with him. 

A low moan escapes from Robin's lips as rational thought slips away.  He tries to hold on, but it's like trying to hold back the ocean with only bare hands.  He takes his free hand and cradles her head with it, gentle but firm, and kisses her again.  He can feel intense need clawing at him, and the now-familiar stirrings of anger tempered with violence. "You might not like what you find and I don't want to hurt you." 

She leans into him, her need answering his own. "How about this: if you do something I don't like, I'll tell you," she promises. "But so far, I have to say," she runs a line of hot kisses down his jaw and then his neck, "I like this very much. But for one thing." She tightens her grip on his hand and steps back, pulling him with her, feystepping only a few feet. Robin hears their armour clatter to the ground behind him and feels the sudden chill of air on his skin and the heat of her body right in front of his, almost but not quite touching. All she wears is that glint of delighted mischief in her eyes. "Too much armour." 

Robin closes his eyes and swallows hard as she kisses him.  Control succumbs to a maelstrom of emotion: anger, self-loathing, shame, fear, sadness, all tempered by intense longing.  He notices the sudden chill less than the way his cock twitches against her belly.  He feels giddy and a little lightheaded.  He kisses Niki, hungry and wanting, his hands on her hips, urging her backwards until she is pressed against the hull. 

He trails his mouth downwards, running his tongue along the edge of her ear, tugging at the earlobe with his teeth, biting and sucking at her neck, her nipples, her belly, her hips, until he's on his knees. Bracing himself, he lifts Niki up enough to position his shoulder under her thigh, using his other hand to hold her other leg tight to the wall.  He bites her inner thigh, a handful of short, sharp nips, before sliding his tongue between her labia and burying his face between her legs. 

Niki is still, even after all this time, hyper-sensitive to touch. She surrenders utterly to the moment, not feeling the rough wood at her back or under her feet or anything other than Robin's skin and hands and mouth, suddenly everywhere at once. She moans and writhes and gasps as he works his way down her body, and the occasional word emerges from the steady stream of wordless exclamations, mostly "yes" and "Robin" and "gods above".  She yelps at the bites, but not in outrage or pain; just surprise and scandalized delight. And when he buries himself between her legs, she cries out in pure pleasure. Her hands search for something to hang on to, but only find the bare wall behind her, so one hand grasps the arm that holds her leg to the wall and the other grips the hair on Robin's head like a vise. 

After the first intense rush of sensation passes and the stars behind her eyes fade, her hips start to move, matching his rhythm, encouraging him along, and speeding up as the wave of pleasure builds (as does the volume of her cries), until she bucks against him, screaming his name. 

"Well, that was fast," Robin murmurs to no one in particular.  He slows the movement of his tongue, tracing lazy circles around her clit, occasionally flicking the tip of his tongue to feel her jump and twitch under his hands and his mouth.  He nuzzles and then nips at her inner thigh, sharp and quick.  He slips his shoulder out from under her leg and lets the other one drop to the floor.  He slides his thumbs along the groove where her thighs and her pelvis meet, starting at her innermost thigh and ending at a spot about a hand's span from her hips.  He digs his fingers in, pressing hardest with his thumbs, and slowly gets to his feet, nipping at her skin, sucking and biting her nipples with a little more force than before, trying to find Niki's pain/pleasure line. 

Her body relaxes and periodically jolts with aftershocks of pleasure. Her breath hitches in her throat as he massages the join where leg meets hip.  Her pain tolerance is much lower than either Panna's or Blossom's, but she welcomes what she can stand, desperate for something to distract from the terrible ache that's been burning inside her since the slave pens, a mere few days before. 

He eventually makes it back to her lips, his fingers still digging into her hips, his thumb pressing, making slow circles.  He kisses her, his own need evident in his lips and his tongue and his teeth.  He lifts her leg, wrapping it around his waist and guides himself inside.  He pulls her other leg from the floor and cradles her ass with his hands, keeping her pinned against the wall.  He thrusts his hips forward and groans against her lips, trying to keep himself still, a kind of torment for himself. 

For the first time, she feels like she finally, truly understands him, and she carries a fist in her heart so hard and thick with emotion she can scarcely breathe. When he returns to her face and kisses her, she pours herself into it, sensing something impossibly dark and grim pass between them, followed by desperate, breathless need. Niki pushes close, clutching him to her in terrible desperation, sharing that need, aching for him. 

And then her legs wrap around him, and he's there, all around her and inside her -- they surround each other, suffuse each other. She cries out as he fills her with delicious, desperate pleasure... and then stops, stilling himself for no reason her lust-addled mind can grasp. She whimpers, moves her hips against his, wanting him to thrust, to pound, to drive himself into her. "Robin," she breathes in his ear, her voice cracking with raw need. "PLEASE." 

"No," he manages, his breathing ragged and loud. "not yet."  He meets her gaze, his good eye darkened by some wicked thought.  He disentangles his limbs from hers, pulling out at the very last second.  He is a little astounded at his own control right now, but what he has in mind has latched on and will not let go. 

He steps over to their discarded belongings and starts tugging on a belt, freeing it from the loops that held it in place, his movements rough and imprecise.  He slides the knife from his belt with one swift pull.  He slides the knife from its worn leather sheath and tosses it behind him, hearing it land with a dull thud on someone's armour.  His approach is slow and measured, like Niki is prey to stalk.  The smile on his lips is laden with equal parts nefarious and lustful. 

She makes an inarticulate noise of protest when he refuses her -- this is not something she's used to at all. She leans heavily on the wall behind her when he leaves her, unsure that her legs will hold her upright on their own. She takes the opportunity to catch her breath as she watches him stalk to their discarded belongings, and her eyebrows nearly shoot straight off her head when he picks up the knife. She opens her mouth to protest just as he discards it in favour of the sheath, and then shuts her mouth with a click of her teeth. What on earth is he up to? 

He takes the sheath and traces a line along her skin, from thigh to belly to between her breasts before running the edge against her bottom lip.  He wraps his other hand in her hair and kisses her hard and rough.  "You make too much noise."  He smiles again.  "But I'm fairly certain you would be less than happy if I gagged you, so" he slides the sheath over her cheek, "a voluntary one."  He lifts her up and slides himself forward, feeling her sex open up and swallow him whole, pinning her to the wall, her legs comfortably around his waist.  He gently tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth.  "Open up." 

She shivers as he runs the sheath over her skin, sighing softly. At the suggestion, she can't help but laugh. "Isn't this a bit like closing the barn door after the horses have already bolted?" She can't imagine that the others haven't yet heard them, and been alerted to what's going on. 

Thinking mostly of Puck, she does mentally concede that there's a difference between knowing what's going on and forced to listen to it in its entirety. Plus, marriage to two very sex-positive men have quelled whatever fear she may have had about trying new things. Her thoughts scatter on the wind like a flock of startled birds when he pushes into her again and she lets out another cry of pleasure. Then, she meets and holds his gaze, letting him see the fire in her eyes as she slowly opens her mouth, accepting the knife sheath from him, and clamps her teeth down on it.  Her legs tighten around his waist, her body arches into him, and her fingers dig into his shoulders. She does not speak but the message is clear: NOW. 

Robin slowly rocks his hips as he adjusts his grip.  The sheer amount of control he has right now astounds him and he wants to take advantage of it while it lasts.  He pushes forward and goes still.  "I don't like having an audience, unintentional as it might be. And this," he rocks his hips again, burying his face in the space where her neck and shoulder meet and loses his train of thought.  He nuzzles and nibbles and sucks, his thrusts becoming faster and harder and more wild. 

He stops suddenly and stumbles back, taking Niki with him.  He untangles her legs from his waist but does not pull out.  His heel catches on someone's boot and down they both go, his backside taking the brunt of the blow.  "Ooof."  He doesn't register any pain or even if he's bruised or bleeding, only the sudden shock of cold air on his cock as the fall disengages them. 

Robin rolls Nik onto her back, and forces himself between her legs.  He teases them both by sliding his erection between her labia for a few moments before tilting his hips and pushes himself inside of her in one smooth stroke.  He pulls out the impromptu gag long enough to give her a bruising kiss.  "Right now, you are mine."  He bites her neck in the spot he had his mouth on before, grinning at the faint bruise already surfacing on her fair skin. He slides his arms under her knees and takes hold of her wrists, using his body as a restraint.  "And no one else needs to know." 

Part of her is surprised that it's the pragmatic, sex-positive elf who wants privacy, and the uptight, sexually-restrained noblewoman who's fine with throwing caution to the wind and letting all and sundry know exactly what was going on down here in one of Sheviathan's smaller empty cargo holds. But then, a lot of what is happening surprises her. She's surprised she'd kissed him in the first place, surprised he'd accepted it and returned the kiss, surprised that the kiss turned so quickly into something so carnal, surprised she isn't objecting to the roughness, the biting, the bruising, the voluntary gag -- the whole thing is utterly unlike her, every single bit of it. 

But then, so too was what happened in the slave pens. Had she known a few days ago all that would happen, all that she would do, she wouldn't just think it absurd: she would think it deeply offensive. But here she is, pinned to her back on the bare, rough floor, teeth clamping down on a leather knife sheath, blood on her hands from eight hundred and seventy-two innocents, letting Robin claim her body and soul -- and not just letting it all happen, but actively participating in it, seeking it out, needing it somehow.  She doesn't recognize herself. 

His hips thrust, starting slow and then speed up, until his movements are only focused in one direction: using the woman trapped underneath him for his own pleasure.  Sweat beads on his skin and trickles down his back, his legs, his arms, his belly.  It drips from his shoulders and chest and onto Niki, but he only notices the tensing of his muscles and the tightness in his balls.  He thrusts forward as hard as he can and groans into her shoulder, further muffling the sound for only her ears, his eyes forced closed by the strength of his release.  He twitches spasmodically as he rides out the intensity of the orgasm and then goes still, letting go of her wrists and bracing himself on his elbows to keep himself from collapsing on top of her, his breathing reduced to ragged panting. 

She tries to keep a bit quieter than usual, but finds it utterly impossible to split her attention between suppressing her voice and being an active participant. She gives up, and although the sheath doesn't silence her, it at least muffles her significantly, and she trusts it to do so, turning her full attention to the man on top of her. She would clutch him to her he didn't have her wrists in his hands, and all she can do is meet his every thrust with her hips and ride the building wave until it crashes over her like thunder. Unable to wrap her arms around him when her climax hits, she spits the sheath out and bites his shoulder instead, screaming, muffled, into his flesh. 

His own climax follows on the heels of hers, and she slips her arms around him when he lets go of her wrists, breathing just as raggedly as he. She licks her lips... and tastes blood. Her eyes fly wide open and she looks at his shoulder where she bit him, and she can see a perfect set of teeth marks in his skin, a tiny trickle of blood running down his chest. Not a mortal wound, but she still can't believe she did that. "Oh, gods above, Robin, I'm so sorry," she stammers, wiping the blood with her fingers. "I'm sorry, I hurt you, I never meant to..." 

Robin covers her hand with his own and holds it there, kissing her gently to still her words.  He shifts himself, his softening penis slipping from her, and rolls over onto his back, taking Niki with him. He wraps his other arm around her waist and stretches out, feeling the dull throb from the bite, the ache in his knees, the beginnings of what will be a painful bruise from the fall, all wrapped up in the languid afterglow of post-orgasmic bliss. 

He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her bloody fingers before brushing his lips against her forehead, leaving behind a faint smear of his blood.  "I didn't notice and I don't care.  You let go."  He licks the blood from his lips and kisses her slowly for a long time.  "I will always have a piece of you etched into my skin." 

She relaxes against him, laying her head on his chest as he lies back, listening to the gradual slowing of his heartbeat. His afterglow kisses are sweeter than she expected from him, and she has to blink back tears, thinking of all they still have to do, and the dangers inherent in them. She'd been right when she said she didn't want to waste any of the time they had left in hate or bitterness. She had no idea what to expect from the future, but she was glad she'd taken these steps, and that she and Robin had finally welcomed their feelings for each other. 

She smiles at that. "I suppose it's only fitting," she says softly. "I gave my bracelet to Arthur, and my kerchief to Bruce, as tokens of my affection. I don't have anything here to give you." She traces the marks she made on his shoulder gently with a finger. "This will do." 

"I can't lose it, or have it taken from me."  Robin buries his hand in her hair and kisses her, his other hand sliding down her side to stop at her hip.  His member twitches and tries to stir and he curses under his breath.  He knows two things: that he is still very much a young man, despite the things that he has done, and that there is never enough time. 

He curls the hand tangled in her locks into a fist and holds her head fast and when he opens his mouth, his voice is pitched low and fast.  "I want to taste you again. I don't care that I will also be tasting my own seed.  It doesn't bother me.  I want to watch you cum, using me as blatantly as I used you.  I want to feel your lips and your tongue wrapped around my cock, and the warm wetness of your mouth."  He pauses to catch his breath, feeling tears prick his eyes.  He manages a shy smile.  "And there's never enough time." 

In spite of the repressed nature of her earlier life (or, rather, BECAUSE of it), Niki's actual sexual appetite rivals the best of them. She does, after all, regularly keep up with Bruce. And Arthur. Sometimes both at once. She briefly goes dizzy at the thought of all three of them at once -- three tongues, three pairs of hands, three... *ahem*-- but doubts Robin would ever go for it. Besides, she's not done exploring him all on her own yet. Like he said earlier, right now, he is HERS, and she's not in a sharing mood. Her hands haven't even touched more than his arms, shoulders and face yet. She plans to remedy that. Right now. 

Her eyes darken with passion as he details what he wants, and her hands trail a nonsensical pattern down his chest, his sides, his stomach... and lower. Her fingers slide over his half-rigid cock, and it doesn't take much more for her to coax him to full attention. She levers herself up to straddle him, bending to kiss his throat, trailing her lips and tongue down his chest, across his nipples, shifting lower down his body, kissing his stomach, nibbling his hips. She strokes him with her hands as she brings her mouth a hair's breadth from his tip. "You know what I've found?" she asks, speaking so close to him he feels her breath and the motion of her lips on his most sensitive part. "There are things that work better than knife sheaths to keep my mouth occupied." 

She runs her tongue lightly up him from base to tip, swirls it around him once, twice, three times, and then envelops him completely in her mouth in one long, sucking pull. 

Robin's breathing shallows as Niki's hands start to move.  He forces his fingers to relax, to let go of the silken curls in his fist.  He sighs and closes his eyes when she touches his half-hard penis.  He could curse the universe, bemoan the timing, the location, damn Orcus for being so greedy, but rational thought flows out along with the blood in his brain, following the path she makes with her mouth. 

He barely registers what she's saying, only aware of the puffs of air, warm and moist, against the head of his cock.  When she engulfs him, he arches his back, trying have her swallow him whole, moaning low in his throat.  His hands come up, his fingers flexing in her hair, stroking, encouraging, but letting her do as she wants. 

He told her, earlier, that she was his, but the dynamic has shifted, and now he is hers.  "Please," he manages between gasps and groans, "please.  I want one more taste." 

She hears him, and considers denying him, if only for a little, as a tease, but decides against it. Their time together is so short, and she still wants more. Perhaps if they had the luxury, she would play a little more, but not now. She hasn't the heart to be cruel to him -- or herself -- even in play. Not today. 

She gives his cock a few last strokes with her mouth, sucking hard, but then releases him and stands up. She points to him. "Stay there," she orders, her eyes drinking him in, lingering on his glistening cock, wet with her saliva. She wants him on the ground, on his back. She fetches the knife sheath. "I think we'll need this again," and she stands over him, her feet beside his head, and she bites the leather sheath as she lowers herself on to his face, shifting to her knees, allowing him all the access but keeping all the control. She may seem naive on the surface, but she's obviously learned a thing or two over the years. 

Robin manages to get his hands on her, his fingers gripping her inner thighs, his thumbs holding her outer labia open.  He flicks his tongue against the hard nub of her clit, featherlight and delicate, teasing before sucking it into his mouth, letting his teeth gently graze against her most sensitive part. 

He does not, though, have much of a mind for artistry at the moment. Maybe, if they pull through, survive somehow, then he can torment Niki for days, but not now.  He licks and sucks as she writhes and moans and cries above him, drinking as much of her in as he can and happily drowning in the rest. 

She dictates the pace with her hips, the force and pressure with how far she holds herself above him or grinds into his face. With total control, she can bring herself to orgasm on his lips and tongue multiple times, her cries muffled by the knife sheath, but still torn uncontrollably from her gut. He can feel her writhe and shudder above him. 

Niki lifts herself off his face, panting. She swings her leg around and bends over him, delivering a hungry kiss, tasting herself on his mouth. "That was wonderful," she whispers. "But I need more. Now. I need you."  She wastes no time straddling his body and lowering herself onto him, biting the knife sheath to muffle her moans.  She takes his hands and places them on her breasts before she raises her arms up behind her head and arches her back as she moves on top of him, using him as surely and as selfishly as he had used her. 

His cock throbs and twitches and leaks precum that cools on the shaft. And then, a kiss, and such warmth that he arches into it, his erection greedy for it. His hands cover her breasts, the weight of them and the softness, the chill of her skin contrasted with the heat from his hands, the nipples hard and cold.  He notices the gag, her mouth clamped down and he reaches up, tugging it from her teeth.  "I don't care.  I've wanted you for so long..."  Tears in his eyes again as he puts the sheath aside. He blinks them back, feeling that last shift in his emotions, but not quite focused enough to examine it. Instead, he fondles her breasts, rolling and tugging and pinching the nipples, listening to every moan, every gasp, every whimper, unsure and uncaring which ones are his, watching her intently, ever the hunter. 

When he takes the sheath from her mouth, she opens her eyes and looks down at him, smiling -- her eyes filled and brimming over with what can only be love. It's his turn to let go. She bends over him, letting her hair create a privacy curtain around them, and kisses him, still moving a slow rhythm against him, moaning with pleasure even through the kiss as her tongue flicks against his teeth. 

She sits up again, moving against him with more force, more urgency. Her mouth free now, she murmurs his name over and over again: "Robin" and "yes" and "there, right there" and "ah" and less articulate things, always punctuated with "Robin, Robin, Robin." His name almost becomes a mantra as she fucks him, the speed of her thrusts and the volume of her cries building to a crescendo until her whole body stiffens and jerks, her inner muscles clenching around his shaft. She throws her head back and screams his name one final time before all tension melts from her limbs and she takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

Robin pulls her down, his lips meeting hers, his arms wrapped around her, holding her firmly to his chest.  He's close, so close, but is feeling selfish and greedy. and wants so much more than coupling on a dirty floor in the midst of the Chaos Sea.  His kisses are slow and gentle and unshed tears burn behind his eyelids. 

He gives Niki a moment for her breathing to even out and her limbs to go heavy before rolling them both over to their side.  He drapes her leg over his waist and rocks his hips against hers, feeling the slide and pull of her still twitching vaginal muscles.  He brushes her hair from her face and is stunned by how beautiful she is at this moment, the light sheen of sweat, the purpling bruise on her neck, the ghost of blood above her nose. 

In spite of her own climax, she is still reluctant to let him go, and she willingly falls forward to him, keeping their connection, and rocking with him, locked in each other's arms. She still makes noise, but it's much subdued, down to sighs and murmurs and his name whispered into his ear or neck or shoulder between tender kisses. 

The planks dig painfully into his ribs, his shoulder, his hip, and yet still he moves, thrusting and rocking, his hands stroking her back, caressing her hip, fondling her ass.  He holds her close, unwilling or unable to let her go, his forehead pressed to hers whenever he is not kissing her, greedily sucking breath into his lungs. 

His breath hitches, and his rhythm breaks and too soon he's pushing forward, moaning and crying out with the force of his orgasm.  The intensity leaves him gasping, feeling hollow, but not empty, the anger and the violence and the shame burned away, replaced with...  He starts at the suddenness of it, the depth...the depth is breathtaking.  He shifts and eases Niki onto her back, snuggling up, one of his thighs placed over hers, possessive and protective, lacing the fingers of his hand with hers, his other tucked against his side. 

He nuzzles into her neck and gently kisses her jaw and wishes he could sleep for a lifetime just like this.  His heart swells, and, for once, his brain has the good sense to keep quiet when he whispers, "I love you." 

She studies the hard lines of his face -- the scar, the missing eye, the experiences of an extraordinary life writ plain on his features -- and finds him impossibly, heart-breakingly beautiful. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear and smooths it down with gentle fingers. She is afraid to speak, but still more afraid to let the words go unspoken. "I love you, too, Robin," she says, and holds him, tight and close, as though afraid to ever let him go. 

The heaviness and warmth in his limbs is slowly replaced by discomfort and cold.  Half-asleep, he grumbles, "my kingdom for a hot bath."  Robin really doesn't want to move, but...  He sighs and untangles his limbs from hers, slowly getting to his feet and helping Niki up.  His stiff muscles complain at the movement and his bruised backside throbs in agreement.  He kisses her, his arms reluctant to let her go just yet. "I will, though, settle for a bucket of cold water and some soap for a quick wash."  He smiles, hesitating to say it, but knows that one of them needs to.  "We should get back to the others." 

She sighs. "I hate it when you're right," she says. She looks at his shoulder and traces her teeth marks with a gentle finger. "And we should clean this, too. I don't want it to get infected." She stretches, feeling the pleasant aches and pains, and looks at her armour with little enthusiasm. "Some days I miss my robes," she says. 

Robin grins lasciviously.  "I don't."  He runs a slow hand down her side.  "Leather hugs every curve.  I would have to be made of stone to not notice how sexy and powerful you look in it."  He pins her hips to his, his hands firmly gripping her ass.  The gesture is as playful as the kiss that follows.  "Now I don't have to ogle your ass on the sly anymore." 

He gives her backside a last squeeze before stepping over to their discarded belongings.  Finding what is his, he pulls a bucket, some soap and a towel from one bag and water from another.  He takes care washing his stone eye and the socket it rests in since it feels sticky and uncomfortable and then gives the rest of his face a good scrub.  He then turns his attention to the bloody teeth marks on his shoulder.  The soap stings and the effort of washing it reopens some of the wound.  He finds some unguent and clean bandages with his things and considers doing it himself before realizing that asking for help is not a weakness.  "Could you give me a hand with this?  It's in a bit of an awkward spot for me to do it myself.  Also awkward, the bruise on my butt.  Could you check to see if it's bleeding or not?" 

Niki brushes the dust from his ass. "No bleeding, but it's going to be one hell of a bruise."

"That's something, at least." He holds out the unguent and bandages. "Could you...?"

"Let me wash my hands, first." The unguent smells faintly of lavender and something herbal. She carefully covers the bite marks and wraps it. "Shoulders are a tricky place."

"They are. Doing it myself would have been frustrating for me and probably amusing for you." He gives her a quick kiss. "Thank you."

They wash and dress in relative silence, reluctant to go too far from each other, still needing to touch and to kiss and occasionally tease. Robin does, though, secretly smile at the other unintentional token she had given him: her teeth marks in the sheath of his hunting knife. He tugs his hair free from his braid and brushes it out before braiding it again. He offers to braid Niki's hair, and she accepts, opting for something simple. 

As he busies his hands, he kisses the edge of her ears, the sensitive spot just underneath, the back of her neck. It's a tease and a little bit cruel, but she only sighs and does nothing to stop him, leaning into his touch instead. She kisses him gently once he finishes. She rests her forehead against his. "I don't really want to go back."

"I don't either."

"We need to go back."

"We do."

Niki twines the fingers of one hand with his and kisses his jaw. "Together, then."

"Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still part of the "Prince of Undeath" module. Takes place no more than a week after Chapter 1. Written between myself and the DM. Apologies if it's a bit disjointed.


	3. The Time Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the fall of Orcus, the Nentir Guardians finally get to live. For Robin, his survival means intense loss. As depression sets in, an unannounced visitor is a light in the darkness.

Excerpts from "The Time Between" by Robin Goodfellow

The first year after Blossom accepted her destiny and Ivy left to explore the world outside of Harken forest was the hardest year that Robin had ever lived. For the first month, he struggled to do more than take care of his basic needs, only able to venture out to hunt and barter for other foodstuffs during brief manic periods. When he was at his lowest, he decided to clean the entire treehouse from top to bottom, convincing himself that Ivy would be upset to come back to both an empty and a filthy house. Half-way through he remembered that he made her a promise, that he would be here on her return from her travels. 

The idea of walking away from this mortal life he's only sort-of living and taking up the mantle of Godhunter being held for him in trust by the Raven Queen herself was one that showed up unannounced and unwanted when his bed felt too empty for him to handle. On those nights, when the urge to leave was particularly bad, he slung his hammock close to the hearth and watched the coals burn down until he passed out from exhaustion.

Robin was saved from himself by an unexpected visitor wearing the armour that he had died in, swords strapped to her back, her vaguely pinkish hair in a tight braid. The door was propped open with a white dragon claw to try to catch some sort of cross-breeze during a sudden heatwave and Robin, wearing only his grief, was idly rocking himself in the hammock, his foot braced against the table's edge.

The Lady Nikaielestra, Matriarch of House Riversong, impending Feyliege of the Court of the Summer Stars, took in the relatively clean, yet untidy, domicile, the picked-through remains of last night's (she hoped it was last night's) meal, the usually neat braid messy and uneven, and the miasma of loss that draped over him like a shroud.

"Blossom's gone." Robin pumped his leg. "Ivy's left to see the world." Pump. Pump. Pump. "I couldn't sleep last night. The bed..." He turned his head to finally look at his guest, his love. His good eye was bloodshot and the other... 

She noticed then that he was worrying something in his hand, a small stone of white labradorite, and realized that he had taken out the prosthetic, which was why his face looked as off as it did. There was a washstand with a basin and jug nearby. The water in it was clean, if a little stale. Putting the basin onto the table, she emptied out the jug and wet a cloth from one of the stand's rungs and squeezed out the excess. She pulled a stool over to the side of hammock, stilling Robin's ceaseless motion. She gently washed his face, taking care with the empty socket and finally took the eye from him so she could wipe it down before returning it. 

As he was fitting in his eye, she leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. It occurred to her, then, that what he needed from her and what he wanted were not the same thing. She knew him well enough to understand that what he wanted was to be left alone to drown in his sadness, but what he needed right now was a push.

Niki knew that Puck wasn't the only rogue in the family. As much as Puck could get up to all sorts, it was Robin who continually surprised her with his playfulness. Between the small digs and the good-natured bickering, she had worked out that before being hired by Arthur, there were times in which Robin went hunting, but only for a particular type of bird and he often came back empty-handed, much to his mother's chagrin and his father's delight. 

So. A push.

"Take me hunting."

Robin furrowed his brow. "Sleeping rough in the bush waiting for game that might never come?"

Niki leaned very close, a small, predatory smile on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eye. "Take. Me. Hunting."

"Oh." The penny dropped. "Oh!" Robin scrambled out of the hammock rather gracelessly, only noticing his nakedness once his feet hit the floor. "I'm going to need pants."

She let her eyes travel up the lean muscle of his legs and the planes of his back, not bothering to hide her intent behind an upside down book and a blush to the roots of her hair. "A kilt. You're going to need a kilt."

He huffed a quiet laugh and turned his head, regarding her out of the corner of his eye. "What makes you so certain I have an appropriate kilt for hunting?"

"Should I not be?"

"Be what?"

"Certain."

Robin's lips curved into a predatory smile of his own. He hurried off into another room and came back less than ten minutes later carrying a small bag, a leather kilt hanging from his hips and shod in soft buckskin boots. His chest was still bare. He pulled down the hammock with practiced ease, packing it into the Bag of Holding. "Thank you," he said, not quite able to meet her eyes. "For earlier." 

Her fingers were feather-light on his face, as were her lips against his. "You are quite welcome, my paramour." She placed a hand over his heart. "Before you get any other ideas, you need a bath."

He kissed her again, quick and artless, before nodding his head to her. "Yes, my lady." After grabbing a handful of other things and stuffing them in the bag, he scribbled a short note - Gone hunting -R - weighing it down with the dragon's claw on the table. He noticed, then, that the table had been cleared and wiped down, the wash basin and jug back on the washstand, the dishes placed out of sight in the dishpan. "Thank you, again." 

Nikaielestra only smiled in response. She knit her brows when he picked up his shortbow and spare quiver.

"Ivy has the longbow and the dragonhide quiver," Robin said, pulling on his sword belt and doing up the buckles. He was fairly certain he wouldn't need it, but it gave his hands something to do that was familiar. He tied on the Bag of Holding. "I know the perfect place. It's a two hour walk, but I've only ever seen it used by birds and animals."

"It's a good spot for hunting, then?"

Robin ushered her out and latched the door behind them, managing to keep most of the stupid grin off of his face. "One of the best."

The very secluded spot was a slow hike through dense underbrush and over fallen trees. Even if he had not have needed the bath before, Robin was sweaty and grimy by the time they broke through into the small clearing. A corner where two walls met were all that survived of an ancient ruin, and nearly all of the clearing was carpeted in moss. Sunlight filtered in from the canopy above, glinting off a small pool and the stream that fed it.

Robin set up the hammock, easily finding the rings that he had set in the stone more than three decades before. He divested himself of his weapons, leaning them in the corner of the ruin, then tugged off his boots, unbuckled his kilt and pulled his hair out of its braid. "Better."

Niki's eyebrow shot up as her lover quickly set up their camp. "That was well-rehearsed."

He shrugged, dropping a cake of soap by the side of the pool. "I don't like to share my secret places. This is one of the few I, uh, share with others." He glanced down at his naked flesh and gave her a once-over. "I think you're overdressed."

"For hunting?"

"For this kind, yes." 

"I can..."

He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "No. Let me. Please?"

She nodded and he stepped forward, making short work of the armour's catches and clasps, stripping her of leather and weapons and freeing her hair from its bindings and her skin from her clothing. He was efficient and gentle without getting too close, suddenly aware of his need to bathe. Lacing his fingers with hers, he pulled her over to the small pool and climbed in. 

The water was cool, scented with moss and pine. Robin washed quickly, scrubbing away layers of grief along with the dirt. He lathered up his hands and then massaged his scalp, dunking under to rinse the soap from his hair. Pulling the mass over his shoulder, he handed the cake to Niki and turned around. "Could you...?"

He couldn't see her smile, but he could feel her soapy hands down the length of his back, over his hips, fondling his ass. The awareness of her standing behind him and the rush of blood caused his member to twitch. The sudden splash of cold water to rinse away the lather did nothing to cool his ardour, instead serving as fuel for his erection.

She splashed him again, rinsing off the last of the soap, before pressing herself against him, laying kisses on his shoulder and the nape of his neck, her hands wandering over his chest and sliding across his nipples. Her fingers then traced lower, along the planes of his stomach and through the thatch of coarse curls, to wrap around him, gently sliding and squeezing and pulling.

Almost too gently, Robin decided, knowing a tease when he felt one. He stilled her hands on his cock and bade her let go. He turned around and kissed her, tossing his hair back over his shoulder to fall in loose ringlets down his back. "I want you so badly. I've wanted you for a long time."

"Now you have me, Robin Goodfellow," Nikaielestra whispered and pulled his hips tight to hers, trapping his erection between them, "and maybe if we had been less obtuse..."

"Maybe." He kissed her deeply, cradling her head in his hands. "Maybe." Slipping a hand between them, he thumbed her nipple, delighting in the gasps and moans it tore from her throat. He wanted to take this slow, discover every sensitive spot, hear every noise finding them elicited, but want was trumped by need. "Turn around."

She did as she was told, following his clipped instructions and his persistent nudges until she was bent forward, one knee up on the bank, her other foot on a submerged stone, almost face-first in the moss, if not for her arms supporting her. She must have made a pretty sight, lewd and exposed. She felt the head of his penis brush her labia and she whimpered. With one slow, smooth stroke, he thrust forward until he could go no further, forcing her to cry out with pleasure. His fingers wrapped around her hips as he took her hard and fast.

Every stroke slid against something inside, rendering Niki if not speechless, then inarticulate. "Yes!" "There!" "Robin!" "Don't..." a cry followed by a moan, "don't stop. Don't... Don't..." Every word, every exhortation, every cry, whimper, gasp growing louder and louder until the building crescendo crested and she screamed out his name one last time as the climax overwhelmed her. 

Robin groaned lustily as she came, her muscle spasms gripping and pulling at him, while his thighs slapped against hers. A handful of thrusts later, the pleasure coiled in his belly exploded outward and he pushed, hard, grunting loudly as he filled her with his seed. 

Panting, he curled over her back and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling them both back into the pool. Once in the water, he softened and slipped out, the eddies and swirls whisking away pearly gobs from them both. Her back still to his chest, Robin nuzzled and kissed her neck and along the edge of her ears, making her shiver.

She shifted so that she was sitting between his legs, one stretched out in front of him, the other bent at the knee against her back. She kissed him slowly and lay her head on his shoulder, safe in the protection of his body as his arms wrapped around her. His hands idly stroked her back, her thighs, her hair and she realized, if not for the water, she could sit with him like this for a very long time. And this surprised her, too, his sweetness and his vulnerability.

Nikaielestra watched as Robin's eyes blinked closed longer and longer each time. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't remember. It's been a few days, I think."

She noticed the light changing as the sun crawled toward the horizon, limning everything with gold. "And ate?"

"Yesterday, maybe." He looked shamefaced. "I haven't really been hungry."

"Are you hungry now?"

"No." His stomach rumbled. "Yes."

"You packed food?"

He nodded. "I'm really sorry. I'm kind of a mess."

She laid a hand on his cheek and stroked the cheekbone with her thumb. "You have more right than most." She smiled. "Food first and then bed for both of us. Saving all of existence is tiring work."

He chuckled weakly and let himself be fussed over and fed and tucked in, before Niki curled up next to him, tangling her limbs with his. The hammock rocked gently, putting them to sleep.

The next morning dawned with the promise of more hot, sunny weather. Robin woke mid-morning a little sore, but feeling rested for the first time in weeks. Niki was a little ways away, sitting on a mossy stump in a thin shift brushing out her hair. He watched her for a time before his baser, physical needs became too insistent. He slid out of the hammock and made his way around to the other side of the wall to relieve himself. After splashing some water on his face from the pool, he then sat at her feet, leaning against her legs. He slid a hand under the hem of her shift, pushing the fabric over her knees, his fingers tantalizing on her thigh. "You're overdressed."

"And you," she reached down, picking up a small bowl and passing it to him, "are incorrigible."

He pressed his fingers in, dragging them down, hearing her breath catch before turning his attention to the bowl. "You could try," he caught her eye and held it, "and corrige me." He popped a berry into his mouth, licking the juice from his fingers. Her fingers tightened ever-so-slightly on her hairbrush. "We're both stubborn enough that the attempt would be," he ate another berry, ignoring the sticky red juice running down to his knuckle, "entertaining, at the very least."

"For whom?" She leaned down and kissed him, tasting the sweetness of the fruit on his tongue. She pushed her hand into his hair only to find tangles and knots. "Your hair is a bird's nest."

He shrugged. "Not yet, but close." He ate a few more berries. "But to answer your question, any entertainment for one of us is still going to be fun for the other."

"Perhaps." Niki gathered up the mess of his hair and started brushing it out. "Or the entire experience could just end in frustrated tears."

"Hmmm."

"Nothing else to say?"

"This is nice." 

She placed a kiss on his forehead. "Yes. Yes, it is."

It took quite a while for Nikaielestra to brush Robin's hair to her satisfaction. Robin found the entire experience a little surreal but very relaxing. He finished the berries that were in the bowl, savouring the tart-sweet juice of each one, licking his fingers clean when he was done. When her brush strokes no longer met with snarls, he pulled her from the stump and into his lap. 

"Impatient?"

He kissed her. "Making up for lost time."

"In that case," she shifted onto her knees beside him and pulled off her shift, tossing it in the direction of the hammock, "I truly am overdressed."

Robin drew Niki down onto the moss to lay beside him. He trailed a fingertip across her brow, gazing at her in wonder. "You are so beautiful."

"This," she touched the scar that had marred his features long before she ever met him and kissed where it ended just under his jaw, "and this," she brushed her fingers over the brow of his stone eye, "make you beautiful to me."

Robin ducked his head to hide his sudden blush and kissed the sensitive spot just under her ear making her gasp. Encouraged, he knelt at her feet. He kissed each toe in turn, then dragged his teeth against the instep in an exaggerated bite, keeping a firm grip on her ankle so she couldn't pull away. After doing the same to her other foot, he kissed the back of her knees, licked and sucked her inner thighs almost to bruising. He nibbled at her hips, placed the softest kisses he could manage on her belly and the underside of her breasts, then nudged behind her to trail kisses up the length of her spine, ending at the nape of her neck. He held her like that for a time, chest to back, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her ear, one hand idly fondling a nipple, the other snaking lower to find her aroused, his soaked fingers slowly circling her clit.

Nikaielestra hadn't known what to expect, but with each touch, each kiss, she felt revered, felt loved. Safe, always safe, even when it was impossible to see (or even harder to understand) at the time. The smell of moss and green growing things was heady in her nostrils and the clearing had gone quiet, knowing that she would fill it noise sound soon enough. So she did, letting gasps and whimpers and moans fall from her lips, building in waves and he moved along her body. She nearly wept in frustration when he shifted from her thighs to her belly and her back, but found her patience rewarded when his fingers sought her most sensitive place, touching and sliding over that hard ridge of well-protected flesh.

As she bucked against his hand, Robin toyed with the idea of denying her release, forcing her to wait until he wanted nothing more than to hear her scream his name as the wave crested and broke. But this place was nearly sacred to him, a place of his many assignations over the years, and here he could deny her nothing. At her breathless plea, "Robin, please...", he moved his fingers faster as she ground her hips, breaking her rhythm as her climax washed over her, crying out his name.

He held tight, busying his fingers until she swatted his hand away, suddenly sensitive, panting through the aftershocks. He eased her onto her back and traced her lips with his wet fingers. "There is no better sound to my ears than my name on your lips."

Niki licked her lips, tasting herself, and smiled. She turned her head to meet his gaze. "It is good, then, that I don't call out the name of someone else." She could feel him poking against her hip, hard and leaking precum. She ran tentative fingers down the length of him, watching his throat work as he swallowed. Wrapping her hand around his member, she gave it a gentle tug. "I would have you fuck me now, paramour."

He raised his eyebrow, his lips quirked into a smile. "Oh, you would?"

"I would indeed." She tugged him once, insistently, and let go.

"As my lady wishes." Robin rolled atop his love, easily settling between her legs. With one hand, he guided himself inside and pushed forward until his hips were pressed tightly to hers. He let out a soft groan as he was completely enveloped. He stroked her face and kissed her deeply, the movement of his hips strong and unhurried.

She curled her legs around his, rolling her hips to meet his with each stroke. His thrusts were maddeningly slow, but that, she realized, might be the point. There was nothing pressing, no sense of doom hanging over them, no urgency driving them to take what they could and trust that it would be enough for however long they had left. Right now, they had time in abundance.

He held her, and was held in turn, his hips never ceasing, his mouth never far from hers; for how long he neither knew nor cared. He spied a fox sitting just inside the clearing, eyes bright in the shadows. "We're being watched."

She froze for a moment under him. "Watched? Where?"

"A fox on the other side of the pool," he indicated the approximate direction with his head, "is here as the Spirit of Harken."

Nikaielestra glanced that way only to hear a snort and a flash of red as it disappeared into the forest beyond. "Did that fox just snort at me?"

"Some might mistake that for a sneeze, but it was definitely a snort." Robin smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, her neck, the edge of her ear. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Blossom never could understand what the others saw in you or why I even wanted you for as long as I did. She never bore you any ill-will, but you are very different women. I am honoured and grateful beyond measure to know and to love you both."

She furrowed her brow, thinking. She shifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, moaning at the drag-and-pull against her swollen, tender nub. The change in sensation allowed her mind to drift, putting the pieces together. "Blossom is the Spirit? She's part of Harken?"

"Yes." His face fell and his rhythm faltered as his vision swam with tears.

"Oh, sweetheart." She took his head in her hands and kissed him, her heart breaking for him. "Sweetheart. My love. My paramour." Her mouth was on his, trying to convey how deep her feelings ran for him, how much she ached for his loss. "We don't have to continue."

"I..." His hips slammed forward, hard and fast, forcing a cry from her throat. "I need this...need you."

"Then I am yours for the taking," she managed between gasps and groans. Robin became relentless, pounding and pushing, overwhelming her senses and tying her tongue. She was vaguely aware of a fierce bellow before her back arched and his name flew from her lips.

Robin had collapsed on top of her, utterly spent. He had little energy to do more than try to get his breath back, thankful, at least, that birdsong now masked the sound of their harsh panting. A soft breeze cooled the sweat on his skin and he managed to shift himself to the side, his legs tangled with hers, one arm draped across her belly, the other curled against him, his head on her shoulder. The tears were there, pricking his eyes, but warmth and sleep claimed him, pulling him under.

The Lady Nikaielestra, for her part, wrapped her arms around him as best she could, stroking his back, his side, his arm, until she, too, drifted off.

The afternoon was half over before either of them stirred from their slumber. The day was indeed hot and Robin was sweaty and sticky in their bed of earthy moss. He slid his hand from where it rested down to her hip, up her belly and over her breast, skimming the nipple with his palm. 

Her breath caught and she stirred, opening her eyes to find him studying her, as if he was memorizing details. She drew him closer to kiss him deeply. "I love you, Robin Goodfellow." She nuzzled into his shoulder, kissing and nibbling her way to his ear, surprised by how much she wanted him. "Roll over," she whispered.

He did as he was bade, stretching and settling in. He closed his eyes against the flashes of sun filtering through the canopy above, breathed in the sharpness of sun-warmed pine and felt, for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, at peace.

Niki shifted to her knees to gaze at her paramour. Every scar, every mark told a story, from the eagle talons on his left shoulder to the near-invisible stitch lines at this throat. It was a secret language for those who knew and they could read him as easily as any map. It told them where he had fallen, who he had loved, the extraordinary things and the simple gestures. She traced every piece of marred flesh that she could see, first with her fingers, then with her lips. She fit her mouth over the marks she had left herself not so long ago and bit down just hard enough to make him gasp.

She straddled his hips with thighs both sticky and damp. Tilting her pelvis, she easily slid down the length of him, whimpering at the stretch of penetration. She shifted her hips, grinding against him, gasping and groaning in turn. Reaching down, she took his hands in hers and tugged once before letting go. "Sit up, love."

Robin eased himself upright, sliding his hands under the mass of her hair to hold her tight to him as she fucked him. He sought her mouth, but the kisses were sloppy for all their passion. Instead, he buried his face against the crux of her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, letting his lips and teeth graze and nibble and bruise.

She came quickly and sagged against him, shuddering and panting. After her breathing evened out some, she kissed him and slid from his lap. She took the shaft in her hand and leaned forward, engulfing the head, taking as much of him in her mouth as was comfortable. She pulled up and pushed down, licking and sucking his cock, her hand mimicking the up-and-down motion of her head.

He slumped back, moaning, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers in her hair and fuck her mouth. Instead, he dug his fingers into the moss and grunted as she bobbed down a little further, the head of his penis brushing against her soft palate. She then pushed the tip of her tongue against the sensitive underside and his hips jerked up involuntarily. "Please. Don't stop."

She grinned around the stretch of her lips before sucking him in earnest. She cupped his balls with her free hand, gently squeezing with the movement of her head. It was enough to push him over the edge. She sucked at him through his orgasm, then swallowed reflexively, slowing her hands and easing her mouth away. She lay beside him, her head on his shoulder, tracing idle patterns across his chest. She took a sniff. "You need a bath."

Robin managed to turn his head and forced his eyes open. The corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. "In a minute. I don't think I can move right now." His arms wrapped around her. "You don't smell any better, you know. I can smell myself on you without having to get too close."

"Then it's probably a good thing that we're alone." She touched the hollow of his throat, finally noticing what was missing. "What happened to your token?"

His smile was sad. "I can show you, if you like."

"I'd like that."

Eventually they gathered themselves together and slipped into the cool clear water of the pool. They washed slowly, hampered by soapy hands and languid kisses. The fierce need of sexual desire was spent, leaving behind the sensual tenderness of love. They finished and clambered out, dripping wet. 

From the Bag of Holding, Robin produced a towel and dried her off, only wrapping up her hair after drying himself. He combed his fingers through his wet hair and pulled it into a tight braid, then fastened his leather kilt around his hips. He caught Nikaielestra looking askance at her leather armour. 

"Here," he pulled a moss-green linen kilt from the Bag and knelt at her feet. He wrapped it around her hips, tying it in place. "I had this made for myself, but it never fit right." Instead of a kilt pin, the front had four loops in two rows of two with a fabric tie knotted to one so it wouldn't get lost. He threaded the strip through and tied it. He kissed her belly and looked up at her. "It looks better on you than it ever did on me."

She pulled the towel from her hair, letting it fall in damp waves down her bare back. "You wouldn't have a shirt in there I could borrow?" She covered her breasts with her arms. "I feel a little exposed half-dressed like this." Reaching into the Bag, he pulled out a cream-coloured shirt gone soft with use. He kissed her belly again and got to his feet, holding it out to her, a faint smirk on his lips.

Grateful, she took it from him and pulled it on. It was too big for her, but not terribly so and it smelled like he did, warm and earthy with a hint of something sharp and the faintest note of hidden sweetness. She drew her hair from underneath, letting it fall where it liked, and tied the cuffs closed. "Thank you."

He moved forward and cupped her breast through the fabric, running his thumb over the nipple. "Keep them." He kissed her with lust he did not know he had in reserve. "I like you in my clothes."

"I can tell." Niki smiled and stepped away from him, knowing that if they did not leave now, they never would. "We should go."

Robin threaded his fingers through hers and nodded. "We should. Do you want to put on your boots, at least?"

"Do you?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather be barefoot. It's been too long."

She considered something. "Will you wash my feet when we get back?"

He bowed to her. It was half-mocking, half-serious. "Anything my lady wishes."

She laughed. "Barefoot, then."

The grove with the Heartwood tree was not far from their camp and a much easier journey. The ground beneath their feet varied between cool loam and hard-packed earth and the late afternoon sun dappled everything with gold. A hush fell over the grove as they stepped into the clearing as if the wood waited to exhale. 

Robin pointed at the familiar bone Goodfellow token embedded in the bark. "I wanted Blossom to have it if I had died. It still seemed right to give it to her anyway. Ivy said that she would make me a new one." He pressed his forehead to the tree and caressed the smooth bark. "You cannot know how hard it is to have a mate who is everywhere and a part of everything and yet you cannot hold them ever again."

Nikaielestra stood close to him. She laid her palm against the trunk in awe, feeling the powerful magic coursing through the Heartwood tree. She could hear her paramour whisper words of love and yearning, but they were not for her ears. She tried to tune them out, rubbing his back to try to comfort him and blinking back tears.

The walk back to the ruin was a quiet one. Forest sounds crept in little by little as they walked, filling the gaps of what they weren't saying to overlapping. As they stepped into the clearing, the air had gone still. Robin sniffed the air and frowned. "A storm's coming in."

"When? Do we have time to get back?"

"If we left right now, we might outrun it, but I don't recommend slogging through all that bush at anything approaching a fast walk and we'd need to be moving pretty fast. There's an easier way back, but it takes at least an extra hour, even with the brisk pace."

Niki gently poked him in the ribs. "You could have said 'no'". 

"I could have." He shrugged. "We are, however, not without options."

"The shelter?"

"That would be my first pick. The other is to find a way to shelter the hammock and hope we don't get soaked. In either case, we'll need firewood."

"Would there still be time to wash my feet?"

He grinned. "Maaaaybe."

They collected enough dead fall to last through the night. While Robin broke camp and Niki was picking berries from nearby bushes, he cast the True Sending ritual to contact Davros. His Dad was already halfway to Robin's treehouse to check on him at his mother's behest. He asked Dad to close the shutters against the impending storm and also, if this wasn't too short notice, might he and the Lady Nikaielestra come round for dinner tomorrow night.

"Ah. Hunting, are you? Catch any rare and colourful birds?"

"Yes," he watched her out of the corner of his eye and smiled to himself, "and yes."

Davros' laughter was strong through the link. "Since you're probably at the ruin," Robin winced inwardly, "bring trout from the pond downstream. You know the one I mean."

"I do."

"Good. Good. It's the best trout in all of Harken and will go a long way to appeasing Maratis. And Robin?"

"Yes?"

"We worry about you and we miss you."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's been hard."

"I can only imagine. But dinner tomorrow night. And make sure you've bathed. I don't give a toss what either of you smell like as long as you're happy, but your mother will make That Face and I'll have to hear about it later and I _really_ don't want to hear about it later."

"Okay, Dad." Robin broke off the link and finished breaking camp. The wind had picked up, blowing strong and cold, and the sky was getting steadily darker. He hadn't heard her come up behind him and nearly jumped out of his skin when she laid a hand on his shoulder.

Niki giggled. "My feet can wait, but if we wait much longer..."

He started casting the Secure Shelter ritual. "I know. The storm came in faster than I expected." The first fat drops had started to fall just as Robin finished casting and, by the time they had moved everything inside, the heavens opened up and the downpour started in earnest. 

"I had forgotten how narrow the beds were."

"It's not ideal," he replied, starting a fire in the central hearth, "but at least it's dry. And soon," he expertly laid down a few logs that would catch and contain the coals, "it will also be warm." He started moving some of the beds out of the way so he could set up the hammock in the corner. "That should take care of the bed problem."

"You could have pushed two together."

"I could. But this will be more comfortable."

She shook her head, laughing. 

They had dinner at the table as the storm raged outside. The fire took the chill out of the air and provided enough light for both of them to see by. As they fed each other fresh berries, Robin started to relate the conversation that he had had with Davros. He only managed the salient points, as he was completely distracted by the way she licked and sucked the juice from his fingers soon enough.

Sex in a hammock was not what Niki was expecting. It was not as horrible as she had feared, but not as romantic as she would have liked. It did, however, induce laughter between whimpers and moans and they fell asleep to the sound of rain pattering on the roof overhead. 

In the morning, they walked back to the village by the less arduous (and much less direct) route so they could stop at the trout pond. Robin, having not anticipated the need for a fishing pole, used what he had. He managed to make only head shots and had to undress to wade into the water to retrieve not only his four arrows, but the trout they were attached to. He found a suitable branch to slide through the gills and carried them over his shoulder the rest of the way.

After dropping off the fish at his parents' house, they returned to Robin's empty treehouse and whiled away the drizzly afternoon stripped bare, kissing and touching and cuddling. They washed, as Davros had asked, brushed out the tangles in each others' hair and dressed, Nikaielestra in Robin's kilt and shirt, and Robin in thin wool trousers in dark grey and a fawn-coloured and well-loved linen shirt. 

Dinner was filled with mirth over a current of unspoken grief. As much as Robin had lost, Maratis and Davros had lost just as much, but were burdened with watching their son struggle without being able to make it easier or better, since this was something that he would have to do on his own. If nothing else, spending time with his parents reminded Robin that despite the sadness that he carried, he still had his family, and, unexpectedly, a new love to give him something to look forward to during the dark days.

His mother and father both noticed how Robin and Niki looked at each other, the touches, the secret smiles and the not-so-secret flirts. They might have found it unbearable if they could not match the young lovers gesture for gesture, with enough inappropriateness to make them both squirm in their seats. 

"I can see why," Davros said without preamble after Maratis went to spoon out dessert and Niki offered to help.

"See why what?" Robin finished the wine in his goblet and poured himself more, topping up his father.

"You're together, and it's more than just End of the World stuff, too."

"As in, it wasn't solely the End of All Things, the Death of the Raven Queen, the Ascendency of Orcus that sparked something between us where there was nothing?" Robin maintained a straight face, but his eyes were shining with more than the amount he had had to drink.

"How long?"

"Do you recall when we came back, Bruce and Arthur and Niki in our wake, saving Elise, finding Thom, dealing with Wickham?"

"Since then?"

Robin picked up his goblet. "When we came out from under Thunderspire and back into the sunlight, I kissed her. I'm not entirely sure why, because she had been pretty frigid since the moment we met, but it seemed the thing to do and I really wanted to and, well," he took a drink and put down his glass to rub at the back of his neck, "I did. Then Paresaea happened and it sparked a curiosity that I couldn't extinguish, so I told myself that it could wait, we're both very long lived, especially compared to the men she married." 

He sighed. "We've gone to hell and back, Dad. We said and done things to each other that would destroy better friendships than ours. We're both pretty pigheaded when we want to be, and there have been too many times when one of us should have backed down long before we did." He leaned back in his chair. "There was a second moment, when things looked bad. You have no idea how bleak it was, Dad, how hopeless, but there was light in the darkness, I guess, this spark between us."

"When you two...?" Davros made a gesture with his hand.

"No. Before, in the Red Hold. A lot had yet to happen." Robin smiled at his mother and his love as they returned, deftly changing the subject.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as they walked back in almost total darkness after dinner. Robin took Nikaielestra's hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Are you okay? You seem unsettled by something."

Niki stopped and lightening flashed, putting her worried features into stark relief. She chewed at her bottom lip. "Maratis threatened me."

"What? What did Mom say?"

"Maratis," she said haughtily, "told me that if I broke your heart, then she would have no recourse but to break me."

"Is that all? I thought it was something serious."

Her voice rose. "Robin Goodfellow, this _is_ serious." 

Robin set his hands on her shoulders and slid them down her arms, gripping just above her elbows. "It is, I agree, but it's also not."

She tried to pull away, but he held fast. "How can you even suggest that a woman to whom I could do a great deal of damage or even kill threatening my safety isn't serious?"

He tugged her forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Mom has a terrifying memory. She saw first hand how Paresaea's interference hurt all of us." He stopped her interruption with a kiss. "Yes, your sister hurt me and no, I wasn't forthcoming about it, nor was I going to be. But Mom is _MOM_ and there was no way on this earth that I could hide that from her. She tried to lecture her, do you remember? And if there was a way that I could have made that happen, I would have."

Niki laid her head on his shoulder. "My sister." She sighed against his neck. "I really hated her for what she did to all of you. It was...unwanted."

"In her way, she was trying to protect you, however ass-backwards her methods." She stiffened and he rubbed her back, ignoring the incoming thunderstorm. "But she hurt me. Not badly, but the deception stung all the same. Mom likes you. Hell, she _loves_ you. You're family. She wants to keep her sons safe, she always has, and, unlike Puck, I came home to lose my lifemate to her destiny and my daughter to her urge to see the world on the same day. My heart is already broken, Nikaielestra, she doesn't want you stomping on the pieces."

Her head snapped up. "I would never...!"

"I know that," he kissed her tenderly, "you know that," he kissed her again, "and I'm pretty sure that _Mom_ even knows that," he slid a hand down to her hip, "but she wanted you to understand that she wasn't going to idly stand by and let you, either." He abstractly ran his thumb in circles against the bone there. "I should have warned you that it was a possibility."

Lightening flared again and the first drops started to fall. 

"The only possibility that I am sure of is this: if we stand out here any longer, we will get soaked to the skin."

Robin smiled and let go with some reluctance. The wind picked up as they hurried back, driving the rain through their clothes, lending them the air of drowned rats once they stepped inside. He found Niki a clean towel before starting a fire to take the chill out of the treehouse. He set up the drying rack near the hearth and pulled off his wet things, draping them over the rack's bars. 

On the other side of the drying rack, she was doing the same, hanging the damp towel on an unused rung last. She stood, her hair hanging in limp tendrils, her skin like burnished gold in the growing firelight. Her aureolae were puckered and her nipples hard and aching with the cold. She shivered at the thought of his mouth closing over one, the heat and weight of his tongue licking and sucking. She bit her bottom lip and suppressed a whimper. "Take me to bed."

After, sweat-soaked and exhausted, Robin's carefully constructed dam broke. It started with a trickle, as grief and longing often do, but he was too tired, too emotionally exposed, too sated to do more than let go and try to keep his head above the torrent. Her arms held him tight, giving him the anchor he needed as he cried until there was nothing left for him but the dark void of sleep.

Nikaielestra left in the morning, after Robin had coaxed yet more cries from her throat with his fingers and his mouth and his hips pressed to hers, ensconced in her warmth and her limbs. They said little as she got ready to go, letting their kisses and caresses carry meaning and promises and love.

 

Coda:

The Matriarch of Riversong, on her return to the Feywild, stopped in at Rivercross for tea with the Kingmother. It was relatively short notice, but Niki missed Elise and needed to see her, if only for a few hours.

"So," Elise said after they had chatted about their children and husbands, "how is he?"

Niki looked up from her tea cup. "How is who?"

The Kingmother smiled. Rabbits learned to flee from smiles such as that lest they be dinner. "My brother-in-law."

"Bruce is fine, dear; as full of sunshine as ever. Moreso these days, now that he knows that he truly is a Son of a Shining Sun."

Elise laughed. "You're wearing a kilt I don't recognize as one of Puck's in a style that is not Eladrin." She poured herself more tea and took a delicate sugar cookie from a plate. "You are also glowing, my dear." She leaned forward, more for dramatic effect than anything else. "Plus, my husband was fit to bursting to inform me of his," she coughed politely, "staid brother's indiscretion in the midst of the Chaos Sea."

The Lady Nikaielestra coloured and then sighed. "He is not what I expected."

"It is in my experience that Goodfellows usually are not. They all have depths that very few get to see. For Puck, it's his anger. It drives him to be the most noble of men, but I have seen how it can push him to the basest of acts. The handful of us who know, who have seen it, can be as surprised as those who do not." Elise took a bite of the cookie in her hand and chewed thoughtfully. "I do not know Robin well enough to guess what deep current flows through him."

"Love," Niki choked out. She drained her cup and cradled it in her hands. She looked up and met Elise's eyes. "It's love."

"And with Maratis, it's family." Elise grinned. "Did she threaten you? Please tell me that I'm not the only one. I don't know if she had words with Blossom or Panna? Is it? But she certainly had them with me."

Nikaielestra was stunned. "She threatened you? When?"

"There was a brief moment when I was alone with her after my rescue. I could hardly stand to be out of Puck's company, I was so afraid of every shadow, every little noise, and he saved me." She fanned her hand in front of her face to keep the tears at bay. "Maratis had brought something to eat, I can't remember what now, and Puck had gone to ask Robin if there was any news of Thom. I was pregnant, weak and terrified of nearly everybody, including my own parents. She clucked, hugged me against my will and told me, in the pleasantest way possible, that breaking her son's heart was not a course of action that I wanted to take. I was stunned. How could another woman see the condition I was in and be so blasé about something so awful?"

"What did Puck have to say?"

"I told him after we were married and he was thrilled by it. As angry, and confused, as that made me at the time, I've come to understand that Maratis will do whatever it takes to hold her family together and protect them anyway she can. Plus, I have heard, in great detail, that she can be very determined and very long-winded when it comes to giving lectures. I have no interest in finding this out for myself."

Niki blinked back tears of her own and laughed. It was so clear to her now. "Robin protects with arrows, while Maratis protects with words." She set down her cup and took Elise's hands in her own. "Thank you. I was distressed that Robin was taking it so lightly when his mother was deadly in her seriousness. I see now that he is truly his mother's son."

"Better?"

"Much, thank you."

Elise leaned closer. "Puck has had much to say on his brother's supposed promiscuity over the years. You must tell me everything."

They had traded intimate details of their married lives like this before, but it had been a long time since either of them had had any other lovers. "I have started calling him paramour. It is fitting, in its way." Niki flushed and squirmed a little in her seat, her memory helpfully supplying the feel of Robin's hands on her skin and his teeth nipping at sensitive places. "He has such soft lips..."

"And?" Elise's eyes were shining.

"...A very talented tongue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More characters, all Goodfellows:
> 
> Blossom - druid, elf, Robin's lifemate, the Spirit of Harken forest  
> Ivy - elf, daughter of Robin and Blossom  
> Maratis - elf, Robin and Puck's mother  
> Davros - elf, Robin's biological father, Puck's father-by-choice  
> Elise - human, mother of King Thomas the First of the Nentir Vale, Puck's wife


	4. The Time Between - Midwinter

In the year after the defeat of Orcus, the Nentir Guardians were much celebrated in both the Vale and the Feywild. For the most part, the Guardians only wanted to recover after the intensity of the experience, to find the rhythm of living without the pall of the Undead Prince hanging over them as it had done for most of their lives.

Robin managed not to cringe as the herald ran through the titles he had accrued over the years, which now included "Slayer of Orcus" and "Godhunter" (albeit premature, he suspected Puck in this inclusion), announcing his arrival at the Midwinter Feast. He was later than he wanted to be, the Feast already in full swing. He stepped into the ballroom and was swept up into the festive atmosphere, women approaching him to ask for a dance or a _dance_ before he had even had a chance to pick up a goblet of wine.

Aside from saying hello to Elise very briefly (and being pulled away by Princess Vyrellis), it was quite some time before he found anyone else that he knew. By then, he was comfortably soused, his immaculate clothing a little more disheveled, the tendrils of his hair slipping from the loose braid tied off with ribbon. In spite of this (or maybe because of it), he looked more handsome than he had when the herald cried out his entrance over the music.

It was easy to see just how effortlessly Puck's reputation could have been Robin's.

The Matriarch of Riversong caught his eye and smiled warmly, making her apologies to whichever eladrin noble she had been speaking to, and made her way over to him. 

Robin watched Nikaielestra appraisingly, a small smile on his lips. She wore a shimmery silvery gown that covered her from throat to floor. It had cutouts at the shoulders and was brought in at the waist with the adamantine and astral diamond belt that had been part of her treasure haul. The Star of the Everlight rested on her brow and her hair was a complicated mix of both upswept and loose.

Robin, for his part, wore a stiff silk kilt the colour of dusky spruce needles, a cream linen shirt, soft knee-length leather boots modeled after the pair he wore in battle and a pauldron in warm brown leather covering his entire left shoulder and upper arm, the straps running under the arm and across his chest. Niki wasn't fooled by the fine clothes or the impractical boots or the Star at his throat, he was ever the hunter, even here.

"Care to dance?" he asked without preamble once she was in earshot.

"I would love to dance with you."

He tried to look shocked, but was betrayed by the laugh lines around his eyes. He took her hand delicately into his and led her out onto the dance floor. "But what will the gossips think?"

"I could not care less. If they have issue, they are welcome to take it up with my husbands. Or the Princess. Or, if they're feeling really brave, they could take it up with you."

He made a face. "Rough night?"

"It's been...trying. You, on the other hand, seem to be faring much better."

"I don't have to play that nice with the society people." Robin shrugged. "I get to blow in, get blown and blow out again. I can even be standoffish and grumpy because it's what they expect. It does little to deter some of the women, though." He rolled his eyes. "It does get old after a while."

"You could be nice."

"Nooooo, that makes it worse. Then they really think something is wrong because now I'm being weird and more than a little creepy."

Nikaielestra laughed and it was the sweetest music to his ears. "But that doesn't stop you."

"From taking what's on offer? No. By the end of the night, I'll be more likely to pass than to take them. But I plan on being a lot drunker by then, because I can."

"And if I asked you to stop?"

Robin pulled her closer for a heartbeat, just to feel her against him, if only for a moment. "Then I would stop."

She blushed, then schooled her features, the sparkle in her eyes giving her away. "I have heard," she stepped away, having to take a new partner for a few steps before returning, "that you have a new love."

His eyes narrowed slightly, wondering where this was going. "I do. I see the gossips have been busy."

"She told me in confidence herself."

"Ah. Well, then. I should have said."

"No." Nikaielestra shook her head. "It's not for me to know your deepest, darkest secrets."

"It's not much of a secret. Her husband," he grinned, "only cares that she is happy. She calls me paramour." His face briefly softened to that of a man in love. "I might think very little about eladrin society, but I don't want to be the cause of scandal and disgrace her house."

"I doubt her involvement with you could destroy her reputation."

"Maybe not, but it's not something I'm going to shout from the highest rooftop, either. I might care very little about what others think of me, but here, appearances are everything and someone, in a more influential house, might make things difficult for her and her children."

"Married and children?" The corner of her mouth quirked up. "You make strange choices."

"Yes, my lady, I always have." Robin danced them off the floor, through an unmarked door and into a deserted corridor. He kissed her passionately once he heard the soft click of the door shutting behind them. He had hoped that his other conquests that night would have tempered his lust, but it only made it stronger and, instead of watered wine, her lips, the press of her, was the finest mead.

The kiss left them both breathless, but not without their wits. There was a small room around the corner with a lockable door. It was, as hoped for, unlocked and unoccupied.

"I found this the last time I was here," Robin said, pulling her inside and locking the door. The room itself was sparsely furnished, an office or a sitting room, and the only light was from the sliver of moon still in the sky. He kissed her again, guiding her backwards until she was pinned between him and a tapestry that hung on the wall. He dropped to his knees and slid his hands up the length of her legs, hooking his thumbs under the hem, chasing the rising edge of the fabric with little kisses.

Niki put her hand on his head and stopped him. "Is there time for this, paramour?"

"My lady, there is always time for this." He slid his left shoulder under her leg and gripped her other thigh with his right hand, the thumb close enough to stroke her vulva, pressing instead into the crease beside, his mouth artless and fast. This was less about her pleasure and more about slaking his thirst.

She fisted her hand and bit down on two of the knuckles to stifle the noises she was making. With her other hand, she kept her gown from slipping between his mouth and her sex. She groaned in protest when he stopped and stood, letting her leg settle around his waist. Flushed, the grooves of her teeth embedded in her hand, she reached down and fumbled with the buckles at his waist as his lips, slicked with her own juices, pressed to hers.

As his kilt fell, Robin bunched up the extra fabric of her gown, guided himself inside and lifted her other leg from the floor. There was no tenderness in his movements, just the hard and rapid thrusting of his hips, his mouth constantly on hers. 

It was over too fast. She stiffened and tried to pull her mouth away, but there was no where for her to move her head, leaving the cries of pleasure nowhere else to go but into his mouth and down his throat. He shuddered and went still, swallowing her cries as well as his own. He put his forehead on her shoulder and tried to get his breath back. 

Nikaielestra stroked his hair, equally shattered by the ferocity of their coupling. "Robin...?"

He nodded against her shoulder. "I know." He pulled away on shaky legs and let her feet lower to the floor. In a hidden pocket, he pulled a familiar looking bag from his kilt and from that, a nearly empty waterskin of warmish water, a small cloth and some soap. He offered them to his love, who took them with an arched eyebrow.

"Would I be remiss in thinking that that Bag of Holding holds more than just cleaning supplies for your debauchery?" she asked, carefully wiping away the workings of the Fastidiousness ritual. She handed them back and smoothed down her gown.

Robin washed his face, careful to keep soapy water from dripping down the front of his shirt. "Paranoia is difficult to let go of." He shrugged. "In time." He finished washing and stowed his emergency wash-up things in the Bag of Holding. He slid the closed Bag back into the hidden pocket before buckling his kilt around his hips. He adjusted his clothing back to vaguely disheveled.

Nikaielestra smiled sadly and laid her hand against his cheek. "Did you get my invitation?"

"Did you get my response?"

"The one word you sent back, yes. If not for your initial, I would never have known who it was from or what it referred to."

He performed a ridiculous courtly bow and, taking her hand, kissed it. "If I came across as loquacious, then you would have no recourse but to demand that I return the taciturn elf that you have come to love for some reason."

She snatched her hand back and chuckled. "Grumpy, you mean." She raised him up from the bow with two fingers under his chin. "And my reasons are my own, but they do not change how I feel."

Robin blinked back tears and wrapped his arms around her in a warm embrace. "I love you, too."

They were quiet for a while, enjoying the peace and respite from the attention of the other party-goers.

"I'm asking you to stop."

"I figured." He relaxed his hold and placed his hands on her elbows before kissing her gently.

"I'm also asking you to come home with me. Tonight."

"It's a good thing I packed more than just armour and weapons, then."

Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. "And share my bed."

"Won't it be a little crowded?" He ushered her from the room and back to the ballroom. Their appearance together through a servant's door was a curiosity, but quickly forgotten.

"It's the Songs for the Sun."

"And the children?" 

"Have already left for the Monastery with their fathers."

"It's a shame that I missed them. I've not seen either since everything ended."

"They'll be back after Breadgiving Day."

Robin found the conversation somewhat sobering. He arched an eyebrow and smiled. "I think I may have overpacked."

The Matriarch of Riversong gave his ass a quick squeeze while gazing impassively out at the other guests. She caught his eye. "Let's find out, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eladrin society is matriarchal. Protocol for dances is thus: anybody can ask anybody else to dance, however, it is proper for women to refuse a man's invitation. She may ask him later (he has the right to refuse, if he chooses) or not ask him at all. A women who accepts a man's invitation is either publicly involved with that man, announcing their engagement, or causing a scandal. 
> 
> Princess Vyrellis was a long-lost eladrin princess married to the tiefling Karavakos. The Guardians rescued her from the Pyramid of Shadows (a 4e heroic-tier module).


	5. Chapter 5

After Midwinter, the relationship between Lady Nikaielestra, Matriarch of Riversong and the archer Robin Goodfellow found its footing and settled into a satisfying rhythm. They spent a week or two at a time with each other a few times a year outside of whatever functions they were both invited to. This was a pattern that they kept long after both had taken up their respective mantels, lengthened at first to years when Nikaielestra stepped into her role as the Queen of Summer in the Court of Stars and then decades when Robin finally accepted the burden of Godhunter.

Ten years after the defeat of Orcus, Riversong celebrated Corellon’s Day. In addition to the celebrations of art and beauty common to the week-long festival, the Matriarch arranged for an archery demonstration and contest, to honour one of the oldest spheres of Corellon Larethian, that of the longbow.

Robin brought his elbows together, stretching out his armour. It had been a while since he had worn it   
and the leather was getting stiff again. He was fairly sure that he would have been fine without it, but any of the archers could get in an unlucky shot and he was far more imposing dressed this way. It also made it clear to the gaggle of Eladrin women that he was here for reasons beyond easy tumbles in soft beds.

"Ready, Dad?"

"Why did I bring you again?"

"Because I'm your favourite."

"Uh huh." Robin regarded his oldest out of the corner of his good eye.

Ivy made a face, and sighed. "So I can help you wrangle the crowds and the kids." She adjusted the leather vambrace on her left forearm. "You are on your own when it comes to their mothers, however."

"You wound me."

"No, Dad. I _know_ you." She gave him a knowing smile. "And I know why you're here."

"You are an impudent child." Laughing, he poked her with the end of his longbow, making her yelp. "The less said the better, yes?"

Ivy nodded and kissed her father on the cheek. "This makes you happy and that's enough for me." She took his hand as they made their way to the range. "Mom would have wondered if you were crazy, but she didn't see what you see."

"Two different worlds." Robin pulled his daughter in for a brief hug. "I miss her every day."

"Me, too." 

The demonstration was nearly a disaster. 

The Lady Nikaielestra, in deference to being on an archery range, wore a moss-green linen kilt, a simple unadorned shirt that was a smidge too big for her and soft leather boots that came up to her calves. Her hair was pulled back into a simple braid.

She announced the event and Robin, who was lining up his first trick shot, nodded in her direction. His fingers slipped on the taut string when his brain registered just what she was wearing, and he misfired. 

"Daaaad? What was that?" Ivy kept her voice low, using the Stonewater dialect on top of it to keep their conversation private.

Robin gritted his teeth and pulled out another arrow. "She's wearing my clothes. Well, they were mine." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rolling his shoulders. "It's wonderfully distracting. Except..."

"Not here," Ivy finished for him. 

"No." 

"Any practice in ignoring that kind of distraction?"

"More than I would like to admit." 

"I think you need more practice."

Robin huffed in agreement. He closed his eyes as he drew back his arm. When the fletching brushed his cheek, he opened his eyes and sighted down the arrow. He snapped his fingers away, letting it fly, feeling the solid thwack of bowstring against leather, watching, almost absentmindedly, the arrow sink into the target.

Every shot after that was near-perfect and the demonstration was soon over. As the range was being reset for the contest, the crowd milled around him like a living thing. Ivy did her part, getting the young Eladrin from all stripes of life into approximate age and skill categories, while Robin spent more time than he was strictly comfortable with talking about himself to admirers, some of whom were not bothering to conceal exactly what they wanted. The audience was hustled back behind a line of low pennants all bearing the mark of Riversong and the Matriarch made her way to his side.

"My lady." He kept his voice low.

Niki did the same. "You're very popular, paramour." 

"And you're very distracting."

"It wasn't something flying into your eye as I've been repeating?"

He raised an eyebrow, but kept the rest of his face neutral. "If the entire fiefdom was not watching, I would have you now, my lady." 

"The fiefdom will not be watching soon enough." She smiled at one of the priests of Corellon who had jogged up to let her know that everything was ready. "Will you still take the winners hunting?"

"If they wish to go, yes. I think leaving soon after the contest would be best. It's only for a few days." He watched his daughter get the youngest archers to their marks. "We'll be back in time for the reception."

"Will Ivy be joining you?"

Robin gave his love a smile. "She misses Imriel and the twins, and has been planning to stay a few days before Panna and her siblings come to visit."

"Viatorellia will like that." She turned to face the crowd and announced the start of the contest and the prize. 

In the end, Robin was glad for the armour. The contest had its share of upsets and tears. Some of the shots went wider than they should have, and he was hit a time or three from where he stood at the side of the range. He was not injured, and neither was anyone else, and for that, he was thankful. Ivy snagged the bow from his loose grip and shot in the last round, proving herself to be her father's daughter.

The trip went well. A farmer's son, no older than 6 or 7, had the best luck, managing a pair of fat rabbits for the family stew pot. Robin, for his part, instructed the young ones on how to find game, traps that can be used, how to build a blind, and did not hunt himself. 

The group tromped out of the bush in the early morning of the reception. The Goodfellows saw to it that everyone ended on their doorstep before heading back to Riversong manor. It was mid-afternoon before they arrived, preparations well underway. 

Penelope, harried, rushed by with a brief greeting, leaving a young servant in her wake to see to their needs. As their needs were basic - bath, food, rest - the servant showed them to their adjoining rooms, gave them directions to the bathhouse and the kitchen and left them be.

Robin, exhausted after dealing with a handful of little ones, had to be pestered awake by Ivy, who only stopped being an impudent child once he was in the bathhouse. By the time he had wandered back to his room and dressed, the reception had already started, but was still a ways off from being in full swing. 

He managed to slip in unannounced, which gave him breathing space before recognition went through the crowd like ripples on a pond. He noticed that Ivy, Imriel, Viatorellia and Liathander were thick as thieves, Ivy laughing at something said or done before he had arrived. Ivy laughed less often these days, so hearing her now both lifted his spirits and broke his heart.

He had no time to savour such a bittersweet mix as an Eladrin noble woman from one of the less important houses in the fiefdom slipped her arm through his and dragged him away to her gaggle of gigglers.

And so the evening went.

The reception was winding down before the archer had a chance to speak with the Matriarch. She was sitting in an elaborate wingback chair, exquisitely carved and sumptuously upholstered, wearing a diaphanous gown of shimmering Eladrin silk. "My lady."

Nikaielestra raised her eyes, taking in the buckskin trousers, the simple unlaced shirt, and the ever-present braid. One hand was behind his back. "Robin, I've missed out on your company tonight. Please sit and we can catch up."

"I would rather stand." The corners of his mouth turned up into something lascivious, something just for her. He lowered his voice. "This is more private."

She bit her lip, her heart starting to pound, and noticed that he blocked most party-goers from seeing anything to gossip about. She swallowed hard and started with an obvious truth. "Your feet are bare."

He shrugged. "Indeed they are. I could not bear the thought of putting on boots tonight."

"No?" Her gaze lingered on his hip, seeing the laces there, the clever incorporated codpiece. She wanted to feel the leather under her fingers, feel him twitch and throb, but she restrained herself.

"Too much clothing." Her head came up sharply, her eyes meeting his. He held out a plain paper package tied with string; a gift for her. "Do you trust me?"

"This is unexpected, thank you." She reached for what was in his hand.

Robin moved it out of her reach. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, I do." Nikaielestra took the gift from his unresisting fingers. She wondered why he needed an answer and why that particular question, especially after all these years. Untying the string, translucent silk slithered out of its paper prison, dragged on by something heavier, something opaque in the middle. She smoothed the silk, discovering the softest, most supple buckskin beautifully stitched in place, the shape reminiscent of the Common letter 'B'. Her mouth went dry and her face flushed when she realized what she was holding.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, as if he was taking his leave. "Do you trust me?" he whispered.

"Yes, paramour, I trust you. Tonight, and always."

 

***

Later, hours or days Robin no longer knew, he woke to the feel of her fingers teasing the short hairs under his navel, following the downward path they made. He cracked open his stone eye and heard her laughter. He smiled in response and opened the other.

Nikaielestra drew her finger along the length of him. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course. Always." He cupped her face.

She held up the blindfold. "Do you trust me?"

He whimpered at the suddenness of his erection and finally managed a choked whisper, "yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin and Nikaielestra have three children a piece, including twins, which is very rare for both elves and eladrin. Nikaielestra has Imriel (son, the oldest, fathered by Bruce), Liathander and Viatorellia (son and daughter, respectively, twins fathered by Arthur). Robin has Ivy (daughter, oldest, born to Blossom), Red and Leover (daugher and son, respective, born to Panna Stonewater).
> 
> Of the six, Ivy is the oldest, followed by Imriel. Liathander and Viatorellia are six months older than Red and Leover.


	6. Summer's Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck lived to the ripe old age of 120 and died peacefully in his sleep. With his brother gone, Robin seeks solace from the Queen of Summer. As the last mortal Nentir Guardian, he needs to remember where they've been so that he can learn to say goodbye.

The Feywild was gray, the ground sodden under his feet. Between the dignitaries and the lying in state, it was three weeks before Puck Goodfellow's body could be burned to ash and scattered in the grove where Blossom's Heartwood tree stood. Three weeks of 'Grumpy Uncle Robin'. Three weeks of needing to reminisce with someone who knew Puck from the beforetimes, when he was still young and daring and impetuous, the constant little brother to all of them in his way. Three weeks of feeling numb to the condolences and platitudes, finding it easier to remain taciturn until he could escape, first with his family back to Harken Forest for the proper funeral, then, with apologies to Dad and encouragement from Ivy, to the Feywild.

He jogged at a steady pace, using rituals whenever he could to make his travel faster, easier, driven by grief and a need to feel alive. He managed to cut the travel time in half, but ran himself ragged doing so. She knew he was coming, so the guardians stood aside as he went by. He needed to eat, to sleep, to bathe, but he needed her more.

It was early evening before he arrived at the Court of the Summer Stars. Exhausted and heartsore, he went straight to her rooms, ignoring the glare from the Prince of Flowers and the cool disinterest from the Prince of Frost and the protests of the servants.

The Queen of Summer, pale, her hair tinged with gray, started when he arrived, then opened her arms to offer shelter for his grief. He came forward, let himself be coddled, let the enormity of the loss be felt. They sobbed together, seeding a massive thunderstorm with their tears. The storm doused the entirety of the Feywild in heavy rain after a day of weak sunshine. 

After, she stripped him of armour and weapons and led him to the bathhouse. Once they had scrubbed each other clean, the water soothed his aching muscles and calmed his jumbled thoughts, allowing hot and heavy want to bubble up with the proximity of his love. He kissed her then, already hard, and found her willing, needing from him that reminder that life goes on still.

Setting her onto the pool's edge, he insinuated himself between her thighs. The sex was rough and graceless and finished soon after it had started. His lips twisted into a lascivious smile and he slid down to bury his tongue in the wet warmth hidden behind her labia. 

She shuddered and cried out, his name a litany, a prayer on her lips, her fingers tangled in his wet hair. She let herself get lost in pleasure, the way he drove her higher and higher, unceasing in his desire to please, until, sensitive and breathless, she gently tugged his head away.

He splashed water on his mouth and wiped the excess away with his hand. He leaned forward and kissed her slowly, softly. His erection twitched against her leg.

She put her hand on his chest. "I can't."

He took the hand from his chest and wrapped it around his member. "This will do."

Her strokes were sure and steady, her lips nuzzling against his throat, noting every pant, every groan, every catch of breath. He grunted quietly as his seed spilled over her hand and splashed on their bellies. 

Both spent, they washed away the sticky remains of their lovemaking and stumbled into a fresh bed still damp from their bath.

Morning dawned clear and bright, the promise of hot and sticky weather scenting the breeze. Robin Goodfellow slept late, waking to find himself covered in a thin film of sweat, his hair a tangled mess. He was alone. He washed quickly with cold water before belting a rich royal blue linen kilt around his hips. 

The door opened as he was struggling to get a brush through his matted curls. Nikaielestra smiled. "I was thinking you would sleep the day away, paramour."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly lunch."

He set down the hairbrush and rubbed his face with his hands. "I haven't slept like that in a long time."

"Nor have I." She wore a pale yellow sundress and her hair was now faintly pink instead of gray. She sat beside him on the unmade bed and picked up the discarded brush. "May I?"

Robin stretched out, his head in her lap.

"I take that as a yes."

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "Always, my lady."

Niki bent her head to the task of brushing out his graying locks and he closed his eyes with a contented sigh. 

"I remember the first time you did this for me," Robin murmured after a long comfortable silence. He slowly opened his eyes to meet hers. "You saved me from my misery, when my days held nothing but sadness. I never did thank you for that."

She focused on the last few tangles, thoughtful. "Is that why you're here? To save me?"

He gave the back of her upper arm a gentle squeeze and waited patiently for her look at him again. "I came so that we could save each other." The smile he offered was small and sad. "At least for a little while." Before she could reply, servants came with trays laden with bread and cheese and fruit, pitchers of wine and chilled fruit teas.

Robin, famished, fell onto the food with unbridled gusto. Once full, he reclined on propped up pillows with a nearly-full goblet of pale amber wine, drowsy and agreeably buzzed. "I should sketch something now."

Nikaielestra furrowed her brow. "Oh?"

"I'm convinced that I'm a much better artist when I'm drunk." He finished his wine.

She took the goblet from him and set it on the table with the remains of their meal. "And are you drunk, paramour?"

"Not falling-down-crying-in-my-ale drunk. And certainly not maudlin-singing-sad-old-songs drunk. I'm still mostly coherent, my lady, and I feel pretty good right now." He held his arms out and gestured with his hands. She snuggled up beside him. He kissed the top of her head as he wrapped his arms around her. "Now I feel even better."

"Will you sing for me, paramour?"

"What would you like to hear?"

"Nothing sad. I've had enough sad as of late."

"As you wish, my lady." Robin pondered for a moment. He sang an old elvish ballad about lovers parted and reunited after the passing of many years. The song was sweet and wistful and his voice warm and rich.

When he finished, Nikaielestra kissed the underside of his jaw. "No one has sung for me for a long time." She kissed the sensitive spot under his ear. "And you have never sung for me. If I had known," another kiss, this time where his shoulder met his neck, "how lovely your voice, I would have had you much sooner, paramour." She brushed her fingers through the short, soft hairs under his navel and gently nipped at his ear. "Much sooner."

He shivered. "The folly of youth."

"Folly, indeed." She undid the buckles of his kilt. "Lift your hips." She tugged the fabric away from him and slipped out of his arms and off the bed. "How hard was it," she unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor, "to see me wearing armour that had been yours?" She wrapped the kilt around her hips and buckled it in place. She covered her breasts with her hands and looked at him.

"I..." He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. His tumescent cock throbbed. He swallowed again. "My fingers itched to strip you out of it." He cupped his balls with one hand and slowly stroked himself with the other. "I spent a lot of time trying not to think about it. It seemed safer that way." He bit his lip. "We both needed to be focused and I figured the attention was unwanted."

She uncovered her breasts and stilled his hands by threading their fingers together. She kissed him and tugged at his hands, holding them firmly to either side of his head. "Keep your hands here."

He laced his fingers together behind his head and got comfortable. "Will this do, my lady?"

"Mmmmm." Niki slid a hand down his belly. What a pretty picture he made: well-muscled, but not overly so, broad shoulders, strong thighs, narrow hips, mismatched eyes, streaks of gray, old scars, and those wonderfully kissable lips. "Yes." She clambered onto the bed and straddled his hips. Keeping the kilt out of the way, she gripped him with the other and, eyes locked with his, held him steady as she sank down, biting her lip to hold back the moan as she enveloped him.

Robin groaned and rolled his hips, his eyes sliding shut in pleasurable sensation.

"So you do make noise," she said, her voice was tempered by breathless amusement and lust.

"You know that I do, love. I always have. It..." His breath hitched and he whimpered as she started to grind her hips. "...it depends."

"Depends on what, paramour?" She stilled her hips and leaned forward, resting on her hands. She nibbled on the edge of his ear. "On what?" she breathed out.

"Lots," he panted and licked his lips, "depends."

"That's not much of an answer, paramour." She fitted her mouth to the teethmarks on his shoulder and bit down playfully. He gasped, his hips thrusting up.

"Can't concentrate." His hands settled onto her shoulders and gently pushed her upright. "You're very distracting, my lady."

"And you are very naughty, paramour." Nikaielestra took hold of his wrists and tightened her fingers. She pulled his hands from her shoulders and pinned them to either side of his head. Shifting her hips and holding onto his wrists, she used him to their mutual satisfaction; she cried out his name mere moments before he grunted loudly.

Sweat trickled down his chest and his wrists were slippery in her grip. He freed his hands and thumbed her nipples before undoing the buckles and pulling the kilt from her. He dropped it onto the floor beside the bed. Sitting up, he slid his hands up her back.

She bent her head to kiss him and squirmed in his lap. She expected him to be soft enough to slip out, but he was still hard inside her. "Did you climax?"

He nibbled at her neck. "I did."

"But you're still erect."

"I am." He rolled up onto his knees and gently laid her onto her back, keeping his hips pressed tightly to hers. "It happens the odd time." He settled himself comfortably between her legs and kissed her before thrusting his hips at a slow and steady pace. "I've just come, so I'm still rather sensitive, but not so much that you, like this, feel any less incredible than before." He kissed her throat. "I love my name on your lips."

She rolled her hips to match his movements. "Then it is a good thing that I like having it there."

He kissed her deeply, unwilling to keep his lips from hers. They were unhurried, fucking away the afternoon. After, they bathed before dinner, sensual soapy hands touching and caressing, until a servant rang a bell to let the Queen of Summer know that her evening meal was ready.

They dried off and dressed in their clothing from earlier, which, despite the wrinkles from being dropped onto the floor, was still relatively clean. After a sumptuous meal, they retired to the sitting room with the rest of the wine and talked about their adventuring days and about Puck long into the night before wrapping around each other to sleep.

And so the days went.

After a time, the Lady Nikaielestra went back to her duties at the Court, leaving Robin to entertain himself whilst she was otherwise engaged. He had found, on a previous visit, a window seat not too far from the Queen's chambers where the light was bright but not glaring. He spent his time there, sketching, or out in the gardens. Sometimes, when the servants brought food or wine, they found him staring off into space, seemingly lost in thought. In truth, he was often thinking about nothing at all.

In the evenings, he would show her what he had been working on. He had drawn, in a cartoonish style, the time when Niki had been shamelessly watching them bathe and had tried to cover it by reading a spell book upside down, surrounded by naked backsides. She flushed and then laughed when she realized that, even now, she could tell which ass belonged to which Nentir Guardian. 

When she handed it back he told her to keep it. "Show it to Bruce and Arthur when you see them next. Here," he passed over a few more, "show them these as well. I think they'll get a kick out of them." They were all of Puck. The first was a cartoonish one of him, a rat in his sling, getting ready to fire. The second was more realistic and definitely from the Pyramid. Even though the Kingfather had not succeeded, his attempt to snag the orb containing the consciousness of Vyrellis from the body trap was nothing short of brilliant. Last was a moment that had reduced the entire party to exhausted giggles: his brother, hands on hips, naked as the day he was born, proudly proclaiming that the Royal Penis Is Clean. The sketch only showed Puck from the hips up, but the humour was present all the same.

There was one other that Robin deemed good enough to let her see, but he had no intention of giving it up. He had drawn his love wearing his kilt, hands covering her breasts, wicked smirk on her lips. She blushed when she saw it and bit her lip. "Oh, that's... Wow." She handed it back and shifted in her seat, meeting his gaze. "I love how you see me, paramour."

"And I love how you look, my lady." He tucked the drawing away. He leaned forward and kissed her passionately. "Let's go to bed." 

Robin Goodfellow stayed longer than he had intended, loath to leave, caring not one whit for the softness of the bed or the abundance of food or the richness of the wine, taking solace in the arms of the Summer's Queen. On the day before he departed, he sat on a stone bench in a part of the garden that seemed to be untamed. He had a suspicion that it was carefully manicured because for all its unkempt appearance; it had the feel of well-tended artifice. 

After a time, he raised his voice to sing. It was a song that Puck and Robin had sung at Mom's funeral, and at Zelph's, and for everyone they had buried in the time between. Puck had sung alone for Elise and, when it was Robin's turn to sing for his brother, he could do nought but weep. Dad and Laurel had sung in his stead while Ivy rubbed his back to console him. But it was something left undone, and something he needed to do, so he sang.

It was there, in that part of the garden tuned to more Elvish sensibilities, that Nikaielestra found him. He was singing of loss and of longing, a song for those who were left behind when the Raven Queen came to call. It broke her heart to hear such grief laid bare and she quietly crept up to the bench to sit beside him. She kissed him when he was done, tasting the salt of his tears.

He rested his forehead against hers. "I miss him so much. And when I go home..."

"Oh, love." She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and cradled his head in her hands. She kissed him again. "We go on."

He nodded and burst into tears. It was too much. She wept for him and for herself. Clouds gathered and rain began to fall. He kissed her fiercely, needing her and she, in her turn, also needed him. They tumbled from the bench, clutching and pawing at each other, trying desperately to find skin as the wind picked up and the sky darkened. The storm raged around them, matching the ferocity of their lovemaking. Muddy and wet at the finish, they wore fresh bruises, bright red scratches and bite marks, clothing torn and breathless. They made a mad dash for the bathhouse, shedding ruined garments once inside, shivering and sore. Their bath was almost perfunctory, more interested in snuggling under the covers than luxuriating in gently perfumed water. They kissed often, touched more as the clouds were swept away and the sun broke through.

Robin felt hollowed out and empty and his thoughts turned to his children and his father. It was, he realized, time for him to leave the Feywild for the natural world. "I think, tomorrow, I need to go."

"I know, paramour."

"I don't know when I'll be back."

"I know that, too."

"I love you, Nikaielestra. I have for a long time and I will for longer still."

"I love you, too. Until the road ends."

"Until the road ends."

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the D&D 4e module "Prince of Undeath" and the characters that were being played at the time. It does mention other adventures/modules that have happened. I should note the complicated relationships between them so that some of this makes more sense.
> 
> The Nentir Guardians are as follows:  
> Robin Goodfellow - ranger, elf, Puck's older half-brother (same mother)  
> Puck Goodfellow - rogue, half-elf, younger half-brother of both Robin and Bruce, Arthur's lover  
> Sir Bruce the Unyielding - paladin of Pelor, human, Puck's older half-brother (same father), married to both Nikaielestra and Arthur  
> Father Arthur - cleric of Pelor, human, Puck's lover, married to both Bruce and Nikaielestra  
> Matriarch Nikaielestra of Riversong - mage, eladrin, married to both Bruce and Arthur
> 
> This piece (and the next) were written between myself and the DM, so they might be a big disjointed. The ones that follow are all written by myself.


End file.
